Making peace with my dinner

After spending what felt like a lifetime birthing Bcelebrated, Mark and I were ready for a break. Though we live only a few blocks from the ocean in Santa Monica, which can feel like a permanent holiday most of the time, we really needed to get away. We found an ideal spot -Willow Witt Ranch. The website described this unlikely vacation spot as an historic sustainable ranch; a labor of love that has been operated by partners Suzanne Willow and Lanita Witt for over two decades. This 450 acre ranch, just 12 miles above Ashland Oregon, was once the site of commercial logging which lead to soil erosion and disease. Twenty years of committed land stewardship has brought about re-growth as well as enhanced air, soil, and water quality for the entire watershed.

I was thrilled by the idea of spending time on an organic farm where poultry, goats, and pigs are raised in a humane and sustainable manner. Over 10 years ago my good friend David Van Seters and I started SPUD which delivers organic local produce, groceries and meats to people's homes. We started SPUD because we were both deeply committed to supporting organic farmers, reducing greenhouse gases, and providing consumers with healthy food, while educating them about its source. Though I've had a passion for local organic food for years I've never spent time on an organic farm, and definitely not one where animals are raised to be eaten.

I've always loved the taste of meat but I was horrified to learn of the suffering inflicted on animals that are "factory-farmed". It was then I became a vegetarian, and remained one for 15 years. In the late 90's I became ill and had to start eating some fish and meat for my health. It was a painful period of my life. My best friend was a huge support as I dealt with the emotional turmoil of returning to a meat-eating life. I discovered that small farms existed which weren't part of the factory nightmare. They claimed to raise the animals in humane conditions and treat them with dignity. While I'm no longer involved in running SPUD, I love the company and I order my steak, hamburger, pork and chicken from them. The buyers choose ethical local farmers and write profiles about them in the newsletters. I feel connected to my food choices and know where my money is going. Still, until this trip to Ashland I had yet to see a humane farm in action.

We arrived Friday evening. We made ourselves comfortable in the enchanted guesthouse with windows looking out over the fields and mountains. Jake, the farm-hand immediately introduced himself and welcomed us to join him as he milked the goats. He was on a strict schedule to ensure the goats were milked every twelve hours otherwise they'd become uncomfortable. We followed Jake into the milking room, a sanitized room with cement floors, and two huge goats hooked up to electric milking machines. The goats paid no attention to us as they ate their alfalfa and deposited their milk. When they were done Jake hand-milked the final drops to ensure they were complete. Then the goats left the room and joined their pals out in the field. Every day since then we've watched the goats head up to the mountain pasture to graze to their heart's content.

Next we met the pigs. Now, I have to admit that I love bacon and I knew that by meeting these pigs I might risk losing my appetite forever. But that's not been the case. There are currently three sows with babies - about 30 piglets in total - at Willow Witt Ranch. Watching these pigs over the past few days I can tell you they have very good lives. Jake said "they get the chance to live out their genetic purpose; digging holes, rooting in mud, having babies, sleeping in deep beds of straw". All of the pigs seem happy and stress free.

The chickens, which are soft and beautiful and seem to enjoy being petted, have clean coops, constant access to outdoors and are moved to new pasture every few days.

What's most impressive to me is that Suzanne and Lanita are deeply committed to the care and well being of their animals, their land and the planet at large. Suzanne said it is a privilege to spend her life working with animals. They give their livestock organic feed and are working with other farmers and mills to get it locally. They run their farm, their entire business, completely off the grid. They use solar panels, micro hydro and a back up generator for all of the electricity.

Ms. Willow and Ms. Witt, pictured above, are two of the most genuine, caring, grounded women you'll ever meet. They are happy to take time to answer all of our questions and educate us about the land and the animals, always encouraging us to enjoy ourselves. These woman are working from before sunrise to long after sunset, even in July when the daylight hours are long. And since it's difficult to make farming a profitable venture Lanita still works full-time as a gynecologist in town to help support their habit of making our world, and our dinner, healthier.

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Ugly is Only Skin Deep

My friend Nina and I share a garden. Yesterday we were both out in the sunshine harvesting some vegetables. "Oh no," Nina cried as she held out her hand with two tomatoes in it. I knew what she was thinking. They were the ugliest tomatoes you have ever seen. They were a brownish, greenish color. They were bumpy and lumpy and speckled. Gnarly looking little monsters. We aren't use to seeing our tomatoes that way. In this country we grow our tomatoes for show. They are unnaturally smooth and firm and plump, like many of the women here in LA. It makes them hardy travelers, which is good since they are often shipped thousands of miles out of season - the tomatoes, I mean. I'm not sure about the women. By focusing on external beauty alone we end up with nice, round, shiny, firm tomatoes that have no soul. Bite into one of these conventional types and you might as well be eating cardboard.

I told Nina not to worry. We are growing Heirloom tomatoes. Heirlooms are open-pollinated plants who's seeds have been handed down for generations. They are not grown for looks and long distance travel like the hybrid varieties we see in the store. Those tomatoes are manipulated by companies who's main concern is profit, not taste or nutrition. I told her to try it and see how it was. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe these would taste as putrid as they looked, but I was hopeful. 

Moments later Nina came out from her house with an ear to ear smile. Knife in hand, juice dripping down her wrist she thrust a slice of tomato at me. I tucked the ugly little darling into my mouth. Flavor burst from every pore of this fruit. I squeezed my eyes shut to savour the moment. It was ecstasy. The taste was sweet, juicy perfection. All the caring of farmers and gardeners from generations past was cultivated into that flavor. I honored all of them in my moment of tomato pleasure. I looked up the word Heirloom shortly after that. It means a valuable object that has belonged to a family for several generations. These tomatoes are valuable indeed!

Nina's husband, Ron White, is a writer for the LA Times. A few weeks ago he wrote a story on a gardener named Jimmy. This gardener's great grandparents were brought to America as slaves because they were excellent farmers. His great-grandmother "smuggled" a handful of her favorite tomato seeds in a skirt pocket and brought them with her. Today Jimmy sells tomato plants passed down from those seeds. Maybe that's why heirlooms taste so rich -  so much history and care and love is packed into each little fruit.

Eating these gorgeous tasting tomatoes has got me thinking about life and stories and generations. Nobody can tell your story just by looking at you. Nobody knows how rich and full and tasty and sweet your inner world is but you. And that's what we want you to share in Bcelebrated. We hope you'll share your story, all the juicy, sweet and difficult stuff that makes life real. And like and heirloom seed, generations can pass it down for years and savour it, just like I'm doing with my tomatoes.

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Believing Is Seeing

I was in Toronto visiting my friend Wendy. She was whipping up a delicious dinner, and getting to know my husband Mark in the kitchen, while her adorable daughter Amaya and I played with her big shiny ball in the backyard. Then came the moment when laughter turned to tears. Amaya had banged her hand on the fence when trying to retrieve the ball. She was about to go running for her mom when I told her I had a magic remedy I could use on her, if she was up for the experiment. 

Her impossibly big eyes widened even more and her head nodded... very slowly.  I reached my right hand into my back pocket and pinching my finger and thumb together I grabbed just the right amount of fairy dust. As I did this I explained to Amaya that I had visited a magical forest. There I had met a fairy who was kind enough to give me some of her magic dust, on the condition that I use it only on important people. People who believe in fairies. Amaya stood motionless. I didn't have to ask if she was a believer. Those gorgeous big eyes said she was.

She held out her delicate little hand and I slowly sprinkled the dust on her finger, making sure to get every last speck on the boo boo. Fairy dust is not something you want to waste. I asked Amaya if she could see the dust. She nodded, those eyes glued to her finger. When I asked if she felt better, again she nodded. Fairy dust will do it every time.

Every year when I'd visit Wendy and her family Amaya would ask me about the fairy dust. She wanted to see it again. But I was careful not to show it to her. Fairy dust is not easy to see, and as we get older our eyes get weaker. Especially in matters such as this. I didn't want to her think that just because she couldn't see it now, doesn't mean it didn't happen then. 

Amaya taught me something that day...

Maybe in order to see the world as a beautiful magical place, we just need to believe it is. Why not try it? The world could use a little more fairy dust.