The Joy of Eating

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But what if that animal was raised on a farm in your region, perhaps by Farmer Brown’s great-granddaughter, and you could see it from the highway grazing in a pasture instead of the ugly confinement buildings that now dot the countryside? And what if your milk and butter came from a small organic co-op, and a lot of your vegetables from the backyard or an old gardener named Tony (or Rosita or Mr. Nyugen), with whom you talk about baseball and the weather every Saturday at the Farmers’ Market? Would you feel different cooking it and eating it? Would you mind paying a little more for it, knowing that it was good for you and good for other people too?

Soren remains the joy-of-eating authority around our house. Although he doesn’t labor over the ethical dimension of every bite he takes (the direct link between the cute piglets he plays with at his cousin Leah’s farm and the beloved corn dogs he orders at his favorite neighborhood grill is still hazy for him), he does like to know the story behind his food. We found this out last year when we joined a new CSA run by friends, Don and Joni. Every week all summer we’d get a heaping box of greens, herbs, peppers, and vegetables along with organic eggs Don and Joni brought from one of their country neighbors. On Labor Day, we drove out to the farm to help with the harvest. Julie and I volunteered to weed the tomato patch while Soren was pressed into service picking vegetables. After a while, he ran over dragging a heavy pail. "Mommy, Daddy, look at these cucumbers," he sang, holding one above his head as if it were a championship trophy. "I picked them myself!"

And for the next week, Soren jubilantly ate cucumbers at every meal, including breakfast.

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