Go Meat!

When I was a kid there were still a few family farms left in Kentucky. I mean the kind like my grandparents had where the only cash you got all year was from your tobacco crop and maybe selling a few beef cows. They raised and slaughtered all their meat and got their fruits and vegetables from the garden and the orchard. About the only things they had to spend money on were things like sugar and coffee and maybe a few pairs of overalls and some fabric for sewing dresses.

People still farm there today but unless you have a large scale operation, you're probably going to need a day job. I always had that kind of hippie, romanticized notion of this style of farming but I think that's mainly because I grew up in a subdivision. We always had a garden and canned our own vegetables but that's nothing compared to the work that goes into a real farm. The whole natural, friend of the land fantasy I had was brought crashing down to earth by some of my mom's stories. Evidently chemicals were their friends in the forties and fifties. My grandmother would put a tablecloth over the leftovers from the midday meal, get everybody out of the house and then set off insecticide bombs to get rid of the flies.

They definitely didn't pass the organically grown test but they were more humane to their animals than today's factory farms. Hell, my grandfather's chickens were so free range they just ran around the yard. When I was about 3 years old my mom told me to stay away from the rooster because he would spur me but she neglected to explain the difference between a rooster and a hen so I just ran from all of them. All the men sitting out on the porch during family get togethers used to get a big laugh out of watching me running around and around the house with a flock of chickens trailing behind.

Not that I'm saying they treated their livestock particularly well. I remember seeing my grandfather knock a cow out cold with a tobacco stick and my mom's story about how the little baby lamb that she bottle fed later ended up being served on a plate could send chills down your spine. And don't even get her started about the lap dog she had as a kid. My mom left to go spend a week with my uncle in Louisville and while she was gone there was something killing the neighbor's chickens so my grandfather shot it, just in case it was the problem.

There is a point to all this and as my ex used to say, it's time for me to stop drifting and land the plane. The thing is, if I were a person who actually lived true to my beliefs I would be an organic-eating vegetarian. Unfortunately, I love meat. And I mean LOVE it. I could give a shit less about bread or sweets. Meat, cheese and potatoes are the crack cocaine for me. When I first moved to Tucson I tried going to Whole Foods and getting organic produce and free range, hormone free meat but I'm also a cheap ass so that didn't last too long. Since then, I've reverted to my hot dog strategy. I don't even want to know where my food comes from.