Never been closer, from knife to plate

Do you know where your food comes from? That is, do you know the exact chain of events that brought food to your table today? Think beyond the trip to the supermarket or restaurant: what goes into acquiring land, growing crops, raising animals, transporting products and preparing meals (in no particular order)? I bet it's a lot more complicated - and a lot more "messy" (i.e. unintended consequences galore!) - than most of us think.

Certainly, the topic has gotten lots of "liberal" press over the past couple of years - most notably with the US Senate debate this past Spring over the 2007 US Farm Bill and releases of popular books like Fast Food Nation (by Eric Schlosser), The Omnivore's Dilemma (by Michael Pollan), and Animal, Vegetable, Miracle (by Barbara Kingsolver) - but unless you indulge in the actual activities of the farm or slaughterhouse (being perhaps the most "foreign" steps in the process), what you really have is a brainful of intellectual musings to discuss over expensive organic tea and Newman's Ginger O's.. and not a deep and visceral understanding of the actual connection to food. I mean, really, how can that be satisfying (once the awareness is established vis-à-vis a bit of reading, that is): What is more visceral than (the eating of) food?

Admittedly, I am, *ahem*, somewhat of an intellectual snob as well, so let me pass you this salt shaker so that you may sprinkle its contents about the rest of this entry (and therefore be able to continue reading in a comfortable manner). haha.

With that said, I helped to slaughter an animal for the first time in my life - at 28 years of age - this past May as part of the BOSS course I've mentioned before. And it was a totally artificial and symbolic act, since, really, there is no need to do such a thing in this day and age (even being in the wilderness for two weeks). Still, I'm glad I had the opportunity to participate, to deepen - on a very visceral level - my relationship to my food forever, a bit of theory into practice, if you will:

I wielded a knife across a sheep's neck and it was unforgettable.

The blood was warm and very red, fresh from the wound, and, at first, flowing in large quantities. My right hand, vibrating a bit from fluctuating nerves (mine), laid upon the shoulder of the animal as it died; the touch was soft and, in an eerie way (by temperature and effect), the body before me could be confused with something still alive. At this point, the sheep *was* still a sheep, but it could only be so for a few more minutes; an unmistakable and permanent transformation had begun.

The actual act of cutting the throat was quick and almost automatic; the minutes and hours (and days, etc.) afterwards (still, onwards) provided much time for reflection. In fact, I now know that the eyes are true windows to the soul (outpacing cliché); watch their spark fade - most literally - as the brain approaches debility. And upon complete death, the eyelids must be closed manually, an act for the benefit of us still living.

The details are, well, gory details; I couldn't do a play-by-play description justice via prose (which I guess is the point of this entry). But what I can note is that throughout the process, everyone was "there"; there was no misunderstanding of purpose. We saw (and did) it all, and could understand the correlations between each act in the chain: from living, breathing beast to seared, cut meat.

If you know me, I've probably talked about this before en vivo, but I very much appreciate those times in my life when I am fully immersed in a moment, even in something as simple as silently sitting around and breathing after a hard run (never mind the procurement of fresh meat); and when the moment is within the context of a group, I can appreciate it that much more.

Here, everyone and everything smelled of sheep, an odor that does not wash off easily. Again, I will not forget it.