Animal, Vegetable, Miracle
I am finally reading Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver after many, many months of avoiding it. I had no idea what it was about, but refused to read it after a number of different women told me it would absolutely “change my life”. Whenever I hear that I automatically assume it’s something Oprah recommended and make a mental note to never touch it as long as I live. However, I was waiting an eternity for the “Information Representative” at Barnes & Noble (for once, the crappy customer service paid off) and I saw it on a table with other books about sustainable living.
Turns out Barbara Kingsolver had a family meeting a couple of years ago and moved her husband and two daughters from the Arizona desert to a farm in West Virginia to “live off the land”. The husband and eldest daughter are adults, so they went willingly with this plan, but I just imagined what it must be like for her youngest girl. If my mother had said to me at the age of 9, “Honey, we’re gonna leave the suburbs and move to a farm to live off the land.” My response would have been, “Do Twinkies grow in the ground? If not, then I’ll pass.”
But would I have responded this way? The little girl I remember ate a lot of crap from morning (Lucky Charms) to night (Pepsi floats). Yet my fondest memories of growing up involve going fruit picking in the summer with my mother. My father, the pragmatist (the frustrated Abbott to her zany Costello), tried to discourage this activity. He would draw her a diagram to show how she was paying more money in time and gas by going out to pick her own fruit instead of going to the grocery store. She would just laugh and say, “It’s not about the money.”
So she would pack me in the car to go pick blueberries, strawberries, cherries, or whatever fruit she wanted. She would grab a basket and talk with the other ladies while I would go find some kid to play with (back in the days you could just go up to some strange kid and say, “Wanna play?” - none of this play-date bullshit). We would have contests to see who could spit a cherry pit the farthest (which my mom frowned upon when other adults were around, but participated in when they weren’t). With all the toys and games I owned, my greatest joy came from running in those fields until the sun started to set. Then it would be time to go home to a good meal and a homemade fruit pie.
Would I have objected to moving to a farm? Maybe not then, but I certainly would now. I’m far too attached to my technological security blankets. Far too removed from the world outside. Still, it’s interesting to read about this family’s experience. Book review to come soon(ish).
Turns out Barbara Kingsolver had a family meeting a couple of years ago and moved her husband and two daughters from the Arizona desert to a farm in West Virginia to “live off the land”. The husband and eldest daughter are adults, so they went willingly with this plan, but I just imagined what it must be like for her youngest girl. If my mother had said to me at the age of 9, “Honey, we’re gonna leave the suburbs and move to a farm to live off the land.” My response would have been, “Do Twinkies grow in the ground? If not, then I’ll pass.”
But would I have responded this way? The little girl I remember ate a lot of crap from morning (Lucky Charms) to night (Pepsi floats). Yet my fondest memories of growing up involve going fruit picking in the summer with my mother. My father, the pragmatist (the frustrated Abbott to her zany Costello), tried to discourage this activity. He would draw her a diagram to show how she was paying more money in time and gas by going out to pick her own fruit instead of going to the grocery store. She would just laugh and say, “It’s not about the money.”
So she would pack me in the car to go pick blueberries, strawberries, cherries, or whatever fruit she wanted. She would grab a basket and talk with the other ladies while I would go find some kid to play with (back in the days you could just go up to some strange kid and say, “Wanna play?” - none of this play-date bullshit). We would have contests to see who could spit a cherry pit the farthest (which my mom frowned upon when other adults were around, but participated in when they weren’t). With all the toys and games I owned, my greatest joy came from running in those fields until the sun started to set. Then it would be time to go home to a good meal and a homemade fruit pie.
Would I have objected to moving to a farm? Maybe not then, but I certainly would now. I’m far too attached to my technological security blankets. Far too removed from the world outside. Still, it’s interesting to read about this family’s experience. Book review to come soon(ish).