Immersed in Life

I'm a little subdued today... a bit down. It's a typical grey, bleak November day. Snow is coming down like crazy in the mountains, but only a random flake or two is making it to the valley floor.

Two evenings ago, I went out to feed the chickens and lock them in the coop for the night, and discovered a hawk, or an eagle had somehow gotten hold of one of my Barred Rocks. Most people would be upset because of the loss of a laying hen, but then most people would shrug their shoulders, realize this is all a part of keeping chickens, and say, "Well... it was only a chicken."  Most people.  You have to remember, I'm a Chicago-girl. I believe animals talk at midnight on Christmas Eve, and I'm convinced fairies and elves are real but much too clever to be seen. I held each tiny chick against my face when the box arrived last May, and much to the dismay of my practical husband, gave each pullet a special name. I nurtured them as they grew into distinct personalities, and I mourn the loss of this particular hen. She deserves that much.

 
Then, last night, while feeding the horses and chickens again, I heard a shot. I turned to see 15 head of elk calves and cows in my neighbor's pasture. One less than there had been minutes previously.  Again... I'm the wife of a Wildlife Biologist. I understand hunting. I know that the populations of elk and deer must be managed to maintain healthy herds. I know that humans are carnivorous, and that this elk, who was humanely, and quickly,  killed, will be completely utilized by my neighbor's family.  I, also, know, that the majority of meat the people of the United States consume comes to them through shameful, inhumane practices.  Cows in feedlots up to their knees in excrement, shot full of anti-biotics, not allowed to move so their meat is tender, and marbelized with fat, would kill to live out their lives running free, moving, eating their natural diet in their native environment. Still..... I mourned her passing.

One thing about living in rural Montana, you certainly understand where the basics of life come from.  I know where the heat in my house comes from.  It comes from the months of hard, physical labor my husband puts in, felling large, dead trees, chopping them into manageable rounds, loading them into the bed of his pick-up, only to be stacked in the woodshed (which, by the way, he built himself).  That's not the end of the process. The wood is then used to stoke the wood furnace, twice daily- which then boils the water, which is piped into our house. Heat is extracted from the water into the air that flows through the ductwork warming the rooms. I know this. I am one of the people who stokes the stove. I know exactly where my heat is coming from, and I"m grateful for it.

I know where our food comes from. It comes from our garden. We spent all year composting food scraps to improve the soil in our garden, so it could produce an abundance of healthy vegetables. The produce we didn't eat in season, was canned and frozen in preparation for the long Winter months. I know. I was one of the people who weeded, tended, and preserved this sustenance.

Eggs come from the chickens I lovingly feed pellets, and scraps twice daily. I'm the one who cleans their coop,  makes sure they have fresh hay, clean water, sun, heat, and exercise. I'm the one who gathers their eggs, washes them, and packages them in discarded egg cartons before selling them to people who give no thought to the series of events required to produce a single egg.

And I know where our meat comes from.  I may hate that our consumption of meat comes directly from the sacrifice of a living creature, but at least I am cognizant of the fact that it does. At least I have thanked that deer, elk or moose for forfeiting their life so that my family can eat. And, at least, I have not contributed to the shameful practices of factory farming.

I'm sure it's easier to shop for all your wants and needs in a Super Store BECAUSE it distances us from reality... We don't have to think about where our food comes from, we don't have to work for any of it. We just have to hand over the debit card. But I'm afraid that we're becoming numb. I'm afraid we're feeling entitled. I'm afraid we're losing sight of our authenticity of being! which happens to be the definition of reality, and makes it easier for unscrupulous people to slide things by us, like factory farming.


Anyway.... I apologize for the soapbox lecture. I guess the upshot is that I feel truly fortunate to be able to live where I live- working with, and utilizing the environment to sustain my family. I am grateful for the labor which enables me to be connected with Life- Alive, aware and conscious of all Life is and entails..