I grew up in the country. Being self sufficient, at least to some degree was a way of life not a lifestyle choice. As our ancestors did, we grew, foraged, or raised much of our own food. But we were not stuck in the stone age. We embraced mechanization to the extent that it helped, though not for the sake of technology or keeping up with the neighbors. For a time we even tried chemicals and fertilizers, though after watching yields spike up then creep down, and watching the tilth of the soil become more and more dependent upon them, we abandoned them without so much as a junkie's remorse.

Like many kids, I grew up and thought that abandoning the rural lifestyle for the glamorous, materialistic city lifestyle would be more exciting. And it was. But it was not healthy, and like all things unhealthy, it was not sustainable. After the madness of a corporate day, a miserable commute, and all the problems that follow from making a living not a life, I quit. Cold turkey.

I bought a restaurant in my old home town, and for a while it was great. But still, things weren't as they should be. I worked round the clock and seldom left the store. Still that was not the problem. I never minded working, I loved the work anyway, and besides any dairy farmer will tell you he seldom gets time off. But where was the connection to sanity I sought?

I started a garden and began to preserve the excess. I canned, I froze, I dehydrated. I fermented, I pickled, I vacuum sealed. I worked fresh stuff into my menu. And I found that the production of the ingredients was at least as satisfying as cooking them, and certainly more than selling to folks who maybe were just too busy to notice any difference. I became healthier, both in body and in spirit. I began to notice the taste of everyday life. My purposes were more important, more honorable than chasing the excitement. But I found that those who were addicted to the lifestyle no longer wanted to be a part of my life. Like any addict, I had to decide, did I want to hang with the addicts or go on and try to improve myself. Did I make the right choice? Its too subjective to tell, I suppose. But more and better thing have happened to me that would never have happened had I ignored the urge to "go clean", and forgo the "lifestyle". I still love the excitement of the city, but in a newer, fresher way. Of course, to some extent, I suppose, I am still a consumer, but in a less self destructive, and hopefully more thoughtful way.

Perhaps our society is following a similar path. Perhaps we are, as a culture, experiencing much the same transformation. Perhaps the popularity of gardening and the resurgence of more natural lifestyles are a reflection of a society that is ready to mature, to "go back home". It is unfortunate that many individuals may have forgotten the methods and the paths of going back, but as long as there are folks trying to remember, maybe we all can go home.

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I have a confession to make. I buy raw milk. And I drink it. And I even let my kids drink it.
I know, I know, this is a fairly new blog, and I probably just lost your trust. After all, who wants advice from a lawbreaker. At least I think I am a lawbreaker, I'm really not sure. There are now a slew of new laws and enforcement of old laws and a general hodge podge of reasons why not to drink, sell or buy raw milk.

Why? For an inkling, look at this link. http://www.realmilk.com/

I don't believe the oft quoted saw about health reasons. I know my farmer, though he shall have to remain anonymous here. He is a neighbor, and has milked all of his long life. And drinks raw milk. Like his parents, and his children. They are all the epitome of health. In addition to the hard work of producing the aforementioned illicit substance, including producing all of the hay and and such to feed the cows and removing their waste, and keeping milking facilities and machinery clean and in order and just generally working harder than most of us ever dream of, the grown sons hold down full time jobs, and the father (now grandfather, and soon to be great grandfather) oversees daily operations since he has retired after a lifetime in a local steel mill. All the long suffering wives of these miscreants, and their children look longingly at the "better lives" of their legal, town bearing friends and wish they too could have a materialistic lifestyle. Or maybe not.

I believe there is a certain amount of, for lack of a better term, 'life' in everything, and especially any given food. The further from the place where it lived its life, the less life left in it. Likewise the more processing and or the less healthy or "life-ful" its upbringing. Did it consume healthy nutrition that was also full of life? Was it handled in a safe, and yes even respectful manner after harvest? This is really as important for a carrot or a cow. Whether the beef or the milk is healthful depends in large part on whether the farm was. The lack of safety that has resulted in tainted beef, tomato recalls, and bans on raw milk are more a reflection on a society that views it food sources as simply commodities.

Should we regulate the production of food to ensure safety? I give a reserved yes, but we need to apply a certain amount of common sense. If milk is going anonymously into a bulk tank, and then a tank truck to be mixed with gallons of other anonymous milk, then to a factory to be further lost in the mix, and then is expected to stay on a shelf for a week or two, maybe we should take the life out of it. Almost a mercy killing. Is this any way to live? Anonymously and without any life or purpose? How much life has to be removed from a food so that it is "shelf stable"? There are lots of arguments for and against raw milk. But in the America I still remember, we had choice. No one buys raw milk unknowingly, and so the burden is on them. For me, the health benefits outweigh the downside. I know where each drop came from, and I even know the cows, as my kids frequently have to be pried out of the barn where they pet and talk to the animals.

Last night, we had to wait for a few minutes while the bulk tank was being cleaned.

While we stood outside a breeze brought us the incomparable smell of fresh cut hay. It was enhanced by the wonderful smell of the manure, which our friends also sell by the truckload, an incomparable treasure for gardeners. Yes, I love the smell of manure. And not just for the aesthetics, it is a great indication of the health of the herd, and can even show differences in seasonal diet. Those who know cheese or wine can tell a lot about the weather and the soil and more from the end product. Although, such information is not as available in cheese from pasteurized milk or wine from pasteurized juice. There just isn't as much life in it.

Lush. Not an adequate word to describe an Appalachian forest morning after a June thunderstorm. Or during one for that matter.
The rain has replenished our little creek (pronounced "crick"), and it runs amiably past the cabin this morning. Though it is too small, too cold and too fast for fish, it is populated with a wondrous assortment of crawdads (crayfish for the unfamiliar), water skippers and salamanders. Each quietly surveying their dominions - the bottom, the surface, the shore.

I wonder, are they aware of each other? Though they share the creek, they seldom if ever venture into each other's domain. Are we, perhaps a bit like them? How often do we consider the world of our neighbor? Are there worlds which we are a part of, perhaps even influence or impact, and yet we do not perceive. Too much pondering. Makes me hungry. Just as they spend their days in search of sustenance so do we, and so I begin to ponder supper.

The garden is in, and with the exception of a few peppers and tomatoes that succumbed to a recent frost and need replaced, is mostly doing well. This garden plot is new to us, and the soil needs to be built back up with care and compost. The soil on this side of the mountain is thin and little forgives neglect. the deep tap roots of native tree and weed are much more suited to digging for the necessary nutrition than are tender, cultivated perennials. A few more seasons and perhaps it will be as rich as the coveted bottom lands, that are, even as we speak being papered over with housing developments, flimsy but ostentatious houses, manicured lawns and blacktop. It is easy get upset when I think of the waste of all the great dirt, in these parts the product of two centuries of land stewardship, being laid to waste even as the radio news cries that the "world must increase food production and improve transportation by at least 50 percent just to keep up with current demands". To watch someone seeding fescue onto the some of the worlds richest croplands is baffling and nearly unforgivable. This land, this country, became the greatest by building solid foundations - the soil, industry that actually made things, men and women who worked with pride no matter the humble task. And yet, the very impermanence of the structures the first world is building, their homes and worse still their society gives pause for reflection...

Think I'd better go plant an extra row of beans.

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Mostly we can not see the sky directly, and pre-judge the fairness of the day by the quality of the light, the intensity and color. Today has been a rainy day, quiet thunder and steady drizzle sounding on the roof. Already the bright, enthusiastic young greens of spring are languishing, fading into the mature, solid greens of early summer, coloring the muted light that filters through the canopy to our cozy cabin in the woods.

Such days often seem to call out for a hearty stew or soup, and today is no exception. The children will not be home until late, and will have worked up an increase in their already healthy appetites. It is still too early for much help from our youthful garden and we still are relying on much of what we put away last season. Some frozen vegetables, quart jars of stewed tomatoes, the worthy produce of last summer's bounty, sustaining us until the current crops play out their life cycle for us to preserve, closing the circle.

Surveying the fridge, I find some chunks of venison and some mixed vegetables, and a few leftover butter beans, remnants of previous nights, and a fourth of a store bought cabbage, a refugee from the weekend's cole slaw. Roughly chopping the cabbage, I throw it into a stockpot and cover it with the jar of tomatoes and just a bit of water to thin. After it boils, softens and thickens a bit, I'll throw in the leftovers and once they are heated up perhaps a few wild greens, fresh and damp - gathered just outside, now that the rain has let up.

This minestrone served with some homemade bread, still crusty from yesterday's baking, and mugs of fresh cow's milk should sustain my little family until breakfast.

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