April 6

I meant to write this post on April 6, but somehow time got away from me. I've been doing a lot of yardwork of late, including planting the cold crops for this year's garden. So far I've got the following goodies poking their cute little noses out of the ground: arugula, peas, two kinds of kale, brussel sprouts, bok choy, two kinds of lettuce (including Freckles Lettuce, which is a lovely combination of red and green swashes of color), Swiss chard, beets, and collard greens. The rhubarb has created majestic umbrellas for Kaci to doze under, and the parsley, thyme, sage, mint, and French tarragon continue to thrive. I'm feeling a bit cheeky and may plant my tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, and basil now, rather than waiting another week for the official last predicted frost date.

But we were talking about April 6, weren't we? (Never let a gardener talk about her garden unless you're willing to sit back and listen to some obnoxious motherly blabbering.)

April 6 was the day, last year, when I saw factory farm and Kosher farm footage of the meat, dairy, and egg industries. I was done. No wondering, no questioning. D-U-N, done. I haven't knowingly eaten meat, eggs, or dairy since that date.

One of the most common questions any plant-eater gets -- aside from "Where do you get your protein?" -- is "So why did you decide to go vegan?"

So the obvious answer here is the video. But there was actually a lot that led up to that point, and I recently made a list of the things that brought me slowly in that direction. Here they are in chronological order:

1) Morrissey
The amazing vegan lead singer of The Smiths was my major celebrity crush throughout high school. It didn't matter that he was gay/asexual. (Was it ever determined?) I loved that man and knew he was destined to be my soulmate, if we could only meet up somehow.

One of his best records was Meat is Murder, which contained the song of the same name. Here are the lyrics:

Heifer whines could be human cries
Closer comes the screaming knife
This beautiful creature must die
This beautiful creature must die
A death for no reason
And death for no reason is MURDER
 
And the flesh you so fancifully fry
Is not succulent, tasty or kind
It's death for no reason
And death for no reason is MURDER
 
And the calf that you carve with a smile
Is MURDER
And the turkey you festively slice
Is MURDER
Do you know how animals die ?
 
Kitchen aromas aren't very homely
It's not "comforting", cheery or kind
It's sizzling blood and the unholy stench
Of MURDER
 
It's not "natural", "normal" or kind
The flesh you so fancifully fry
The meat in your mouth
As you savour the flavour
Of MURDER
 
NO, NO, NO, IT'S MURDER
NO, NO, NO, IT'S MURDER
 
Oh ... and who hears when animals cry? 

So combine such stark lyrics with teenage angst, and you've got a recipe for a future vegetarian. I remember briefly going veg because of this album, but it was hard to do then with everybody else eating meat and me not knowing how to cook yet. So I fell right back into my meat-eating habits.

2) Vegetarians and Vegans I Met
Vegetarians have intrigued me. If one crossed my path, I'd have many questions, mainly because I was fascinated by this way of life and truly admired it, even though I knew it was something I couldn't pull off. After all, I'd tried it once and it didn't work.  Which, of course, begs the question, "Why couldn't you just try again?"

Honestly, I think it was the "normalcy" of meat that kept me rooted in place. Meat was Thanksgiving turkey and all the wonderful memories I had of that favorite holiday. It was my mother's famous spaghetti sauce with meatballs and sausages that I lusted after. My father's Indian chicken curry and my grandmother's Chicken Divan that I requested on each birthday growing up. The smell and taste of bacon and coffee on lazy weekend mornings.

Meat was part of my identity and played a large part in family memories. Give up meat? That was as crazy as cutting myself off from my family. Unthinkable.

And yet, I really loved animals and felt the uncomfortable truths peeking at me subtly like the eyes of a camouflaged frog peering over a submerged lily pad. The truth was there, but just contemplating it all made me so damned sad, so I ignored those peering eyes. Everyone else ignored it, right? Well, practically everyone.

About ten years ago, one of my meat-eating roommates went to her vegan friends' house for Thanksgiving. I recall feeling bad for her, missing out on the holiday turkey. The next day, though, she raved about the food. "It was really really good!" she insisted, even though I had my doubts. She went on. "And both of my friends' skin looks so good! One of them had really bad acne and as soon as she went vegan, it cleared up. They both kind of glow. I know that sounds weird, but it was cool."  I didn't think too much on the comment at the time, but the fact that I remember it so clearly is telling. There were stirrings in my brain. Perhaps there was more to that veganism thing.

All the vegetarians that I knew, come to think of it, were very good-looking people. They all had healthy, rosy cheeks, and were that perfect weight so many strive for.  I've always been small  -- minus my year of eating a wide variety of aged dairy products in France -- and felt irritated by the people who would shake their heads and cluck that I was "so skinny" or "too thin." There was even a well-meaning teacher in high school who pulled me aside and not-so-subtly hinted that I might have an eating disorder. Which was really funny because 1) my appetite is huge and I can really wolf food down and 2) I detest throwing up. My husband can attest that I'm a real baby if I get a stomach bug.

My doctor assured me that my 130 lbs on my 5.5 frame was perfect, but having tiny proportions doesn't fit the American standard of a healthy look. I'd probably get more approval if I enlarged "the girls," but that ain't my style. Still, I sometimes gaze at people who are so perfectly proportioned and think, "It must be nice."

Where was I?

Right -- vegetarians and vegans were startlingly pretty people. Food for thought, but I still didn't entertain the idea of trying it out myself.

3. Ellen
Ellen DeGeneres went vegan. The woman who loved her hamburgers. And, crazily enough, she got even prettier. So I started thinking slightly about it. 'Cause you can't get any cooler or nicer than Ellen, can you?

 4. Whole Foods Comes Clean
Last year, Whole Foods started labeling their meat based on how "humane" the care for the animal was. I think a "1" was low and a "5" or something was an animal that was super-cared for. I found out later that this upset many animal rights folks, as it perpetuated the "happy humane animal" myth and lulled a believing public into continuing to consume animals.

But for me, it had the opposite effect. None of their meat was rated above a "2" and that was a real eye-opener for me. I'd blithely assumed that Whole Foods animals were all well-cared for with deaths so quick, they didn't even see it coming. Interestingly enough, the CEO of Whole Foods, John Mackey, is vegan. I wonder if he did this to raise awareness of what really goes on when animals are raised for food. (He's actually an interesting person to read about; an odd fellow, definitely, but interesting.)

So those 2s really got me thinking and feeling very uncomfortable with my choices.


5. Pretty Book
While these 2s were percolating in my brain, I noticed a lovely book on  display in Barnes and Noble: The Vegan's Daily Companion, by Colleen Patrick-Goudreau. I was smitten by it and by the pictures of the contented creatures throughout. [After going vegan, I bought it and it's one of my favorite books. Just a lovely tome of happiness.] It really pulled at my heartstrings and resonated with parts of me that had slumbered for years. Every time I'd visit a bookstore, I'd seek this book out and marvel at it.

6. Telling it Like it Is in the Lunchroom
One day I was in our teacher's lounge and the subject of animal cruelty came up. I glanced at my plate of chicken curry and said, "Oh, it makes me so sad to think about that. I just can't bear to think about it or watch it." My vegetarian colleague pointed out (very kindly and non-judgmentally somehow) "Well if you can't think about it, never mind watch it, should you really be eating it?" I had no answer for that, but those words floated around me for days.

7. Curiosity Spared the Cat
In early April of 2011, I decided to look at some vegan blogs. NOT because I wanted to go vegan, mind you. I was just very curious, the same way I would be about Cirque du Soleil acrobats. And that's when I saw the video link, took a deep breath, pressed play, and had my whole flimsy way of thinking disintegrate instantly.

***

That's a pretty long-winded explanation of how it all started, but I think most evolutions happen that way. Slow and steady until you hit the tipping point and then all bets are off.

Yesterday I was talking with another colleague, who's temporarily eating vegan for his health. He was fascinated with the way food tastes changed. "Tomatoes are so sweet now!" he noted. And this reminded me of my own transformation. Food does taste way better; clearer. I suppose it's like putting glasses on someone accustomed to a blurry world, except the change takes place in your taste buds instead.

Another interesting thing that changed was that I used to bruise ALL the time. My legs were a gross palate of purples. greens, and greys, all as a result of barely bumping into things. I didn't take note of this interesting change until a month ago, when a student's chair came toppling down from their desktop and scraped my leg. I knew it would leave a hefty bruise. But no such bruise appeared and it occurred to me that my legs had been bruise-free for about a year.

My fingernails and hair grow like weeds now and are super healthy. I used to get tons of white marks on my nails, which some said were marks of calcium deficiency, but the jury's still out on that. Still, it's weird that they went away after I went vegan. And my energy level picked up noticeably. And I feel GOOD after eating ... I don't get stomach aches any more.

But best of all, I feel happy. Happy to share my compassion to all animals, not just domesticated ones that we subjectively decide are pet-worthy. I feel more connected to every living thing, somehow. (insert New Age music) Which is fascinating, because I thought that opening myself up to the knowledge of animal agriculture would make me a sad person. And while there are moments that hurt (mainly when loving people explain away animal suffering or, just as bad, joke about it), overall it feels like a big grey cloud lifted itself off my life.

And I am very hopeful that this will catch on and we can end what over 10 billion animals endure each year in the U.S. alone. Meat consumption in this country has declined in the last six years. May those videos soon become outdated artifacts of what apathy and denial allowed us to once support.

Leap of Faith

About two years ago, as my 39th birthday peeked menacingly around a large, craggy rock and snickered, I decided that I needed to do something spectacular to knock it on its ... bottom. 39 was clearly in cahoots with 40, and they both needed to be put in their collective place.

I've never had any desire to jump out of a plane or scale a snowcovered peak. But I was a bit thrilled by the idea of gliding on a trapeze. It looked like a grown-up swingset.

First off, heights do scare me. But a trapeze's height seemed much more doable than that of, say, a bridge with only a bungee cord holding me to life.

So one cold, sunny day,  I went off to Jordan Furniture's Trapeze School, bundled up but still shivering from the anticipation. Would my weak arms be able to hold on? Would I feel that terrifying rollercoaster drop in my stomach?

Before climbing up to the platform, about eight of us were given a prep class to show us what we'd be doing way up there. I made an effort to appear confident and nonplussed, though I'm certain my efforts were wasted. I did this not in an attempt to make myself look good, but to convince myself I wasn't, in fact, terrified. This ruse seemed to work like a charm until the very moment I stepped to the edge of the platform. One has to lean one's hips way forward while holding the bar and having one's back end temporarily secured by the trainer, gravity tugging you down threateningly all the while. It goes against every survival instinct that screams defiantly, "Pull your butt and shoulders back! Curl up away from the edge! Hello? A little help here? Trying to save your life!" It sounds melodramatic, but I felt like two parts of me were in a great internal battle. The brave part quickly cowered up in a corner and said "Okay...This was a cute idea, but never mind."

My voice shook in a kindergartener's-first-day-of-school fashion, as I whimpered to the ridiculously muscled, practical trainer standing behind me, "I'm really, really scared. I'm scared. Oh God. I'm really scared." I think part of me was hoping he'd say, "Do you want to back out?"

His actual reply? "Yep. I know you are. Now bend your knees and get ready." He mercilessly huffed the commands to me, which consisted of a "Hep!" kind of yell. He clearly wasn't going to allow me leave this platform by any means but this unexpectedly heavy bar, which suddenly felt very loose, wobbly and uneven in my sweaty hands.

So I moaned softly in complete terror.

And jumped.

And the amazing part? It was GLORIOUS! It was the most wonderful feeling! NO drop-in-the-stomach at all! It was like being a little kid again on your bike for the first time with no training wheels. I pulled my legs up to the bar, which on our ground practice had been extremely hard. Up there, though, with the momentum, it was a snap. Legs locked over the bar and, upon hearing the command, I let my arms go.

I'm telling you, there is no way to describe it. But I knew that I wanted my own trapeze.

About an hour later, I successfully did a catch, where I swung upside-down again, grabbed the arms of a trainer swinging on a different trapeze, and released my legs from my own trapeze. 

So all the fear was groundless (no pun intended) and I was glowing with excitement, pride, and flushed joy. Like a kid at a carnival, I didn't want to leave.

That was two years ago. I'm now tackling a new challenge. No planes, no bungee cords.

Instead, I've started to write a book! I've always wanted to do this, but didn't think I had the imagination left in me to make up a story from my piddly little brain. I loved that scene from Out of Africa, when Meryl Streep's character is asked by her dinnertime visitors to tell a story. She asks for the first sentence, which Robert Redford gives her, and then she spins an elaborate tale over soft candlelight. They all end up at the fireplace, where she tells the last line of the story to their blissful faces.

So that's how I sort of envisioned the process.

Ends up, it doesn't quite work that way. And I couldn't help but notice that Robert Redford was absent. (Sorry, Ryan, you know you're my favorite. A girl has to have her harmless crushes, though.)

This all began last fall, when a seed of a story suddenly showed up. It floated about, even after I smiled politely at it with a thanks-but-no-thank-you look. Yet it kept peering expectantly at me at odd moments. I ignored it for a good while, assuming someone with more flair for fiction would adopt it. But it didn't leave my side. It was very patient.

So I nervously decided to make a new leap of faith, all the while afraid that it would end up being yet another project that would fizzle out, much like my attempts at knitting. Despite feeling unequal to the task, I took Nike's advice and made up my mind to just do it.

The story is a kind of fantasy/mystery/adventure with great promise. And, of course, I'm not going to breathe a word of it here. I'm jealously guarding the idea, not because I think anyone's going to steal it, but because it just feels more exquisitely possible when I keep it to myself. There's more freedom in it.

This is why I haven't been posting as much in the last couple of months. I wrote the first thirty or so pages with great fervor. And then the story unexpectedly stalled. It felt like I'd painted myself into a corner. I couldn't see where it would end, nor how I would even get there. So I stopped and am now outlining its course, giving it room to breathe, of course, but trying to capture the essence of it so I have a roadmap.

It's a delicious experience. :)

I'm still going to write posts here. It's fun, and it makes me feel like I'm doing something that can help both the animals and the environment in my own small way. Neither, unfortunately, has a voice, so we need to speak up for them. (More on the environment later.)

So that's it. I look forward to the day when I can share the completed story with you. And maybe Robert Redford will come to hear me tell it in his safari outfit.

Starfish Tale

There's a great story that you may have heard. I was introduced to it years ago, though I'm not sure where and in what context.  But it always stuck with me because it speaks to everything I know to be true in this world. If you love it as well, then I'll venture to guess that you won't mind a friendly retelling.

A couple of months ago, in fact, I had been thinking about this particular story and entertaining the idea of writing about it here. A day or two later, Ryan and I were enjoying some fantastic vegan Thai food in Brookline, and I heard a man two tables away from us mention "the starfish story" to his dining companion, asking if she'd heard it. I leaned over, very excited, and said, "I hope you don't mind my butting in, but I LOVE the starfish story! I was just thinking of it the other day!" He smiled generously and asked, "Do you want to tell it?"  I laughed, a bit embarrassed, and said I preferred to listen to it told by someone else. So I indeed sat back, eating my green curry with tofu (perfectly done!)  as he shared the story with his friend. I had this foolish grin plastered on my face, like some unnameable force had come hovering over our tables in a very My Dinner with Andre way. (If you haven't seen that movie, SEE IT.) One of those funny unforgettable moments in your life where you feel like all the stars lined up somehow.

And while I prefer to hear the story, I'm happy to give telling it a shot. So here goes.

Early one morning, a young girl stood by herself at the shore's edge, where thousands of beautiful starfish had washed up on the beach. They were still alive, but as the tide was going out, they would surely die. Knowing this, the girl began to pick up starfish, one at a time, and throw them as far as her thin coltish arms would allow, back into the churning sea. 

In the midst of this activity, a man passed by on his morning run. He noticed the girl and what she was doing and curiously slowed down to watch her throw starfish after starfish into the water. "What are you doing?" he asked in that tentative way that some adults use with children.


She glanced at him and remarked with a light optimistic voice, "I'm throwing them back in the water!" 

He smiled at her enthusiasm and asked, "Why are you doing that?"

"'Cause they won't grow up if I don't!" She giggled at his somehow not knowing this obvious fact, and went back to work.

The man glanced up the beach, dotted with thousands of starfish. He hated to see this nice kid disappointed and gently pointed out, "But there are miles of beach and endless starfish. This really isn't going to make a difference."

She listened politely and then bent down to pick up another starfish, throwing it to the sea with its comrades. Looking back at him with a contagious smile, she said with triumph, "I made a difference to that one!" 


He laughed, shook his head, and then turned to continue his run down the beach. But then he stopped and looked back at her. Bending down and glancing back at her, he picked up a starfish and threw it into the sea.

Isn't that great?

When I first decided to divorce myself from the ugly world of animal production, I had a couple of well-meaning folks say to me in a kind way, "I can understand why you're doing this and it's nice and all. But your giving up animal products isn't really going to make a dent. The animal agriculture industry's just too big."

Like the little girl, I find that comment almost funny, and yet troubling. There are thousands of animals in shelters who are doomed to be euthanized. Perhaps you brought one or two home and saved them from that fate. Would you say it made no difference? You see the joy in that animal every day. Their quirky wonderful ways.

Of course it makes a difference. It's so self-evident, that it feels silly even talking about it.

Different studies show that, on average, each U.S. citizen eats about 95 land animals per year, which doesn't even take into account marine animals. (And I assume the figure is the same for many other countries.) Will this make a dent in the animal agriculture industries? YES YES YES! Substituting cow's milk for almond milk (or any of the other delicious plant-based milks) will make a big difference to one cow, whose babies continue to be taken from her quite brutally. Using flax seed with water in your muffins instead of eggs will mean fewer male chicks will be ground up alive in a hatchery for egg-laying hens. Everything we do matters.

What's more, when you give up eating animal products, it becomes the topic of discussion with everyone you know, whether you want it to or not. (But who wouldn't want it to?) People are naturally curious and want to talk about it. Which forces everyone to think about it, at least for that particular moment. The number of people who have changed their own eating habits since Ryan and I went vegan either by going vegan or replacing certain meats/dairy/eggs with plant-based fare has astounded me. I've talked to other happy plant-eaters who have had the same experience, so I know it's not unusual.

It makes all the difference.

And isn't that what we all really want? To make a difference in the world? What a truly easy way to do it.

So throw those starfish back in, politely smile at the naysayers and send them your love, and before you know it, you will have plenty of company with you on the beach. And soon, all those doomed starfish will rejoin their brothers and sisters in the water, where they'll get to grow up and do their starfish thing. :)

 ********

PS. Here is a recent video making the rounds that shows beached dolphins, rather than starfish, who were brought back to the sea. Sure made a difference to them, didn't it?