Fresh and local milk & meat were on the table almost every day – even though fresh vegetables were not really available most of the year in Michigan in the 1950’s. But, in summer we were happily eating a lot of it!

Summer meant fresh food and sometimes it was grown in our backyard or from a garden just outside of town. We had a raspberry patch, a few tomato plants & plenty of rhubarb behind the garage. A black walnut tree by the driveway never failed to give us its strangely green fruit.

My grandparents were farm folk and appreciated fresh eggs. Grandma got them from Aunt Esther whenever she could. Grandpa fished almost daily for pan fish – bluegills, perch, sunfish, bass in Wall Lake where I remember the food being particularly great after a day of swimming & outdoor play. Once we crossed the lake on a boat to Aunt Nonie’s cottage where we picked blackberries & huckleberries too. The roads were full of summer farm stands with corn and squash. It was almost daily that dinners were centered on corn on the cob with plenty of butter and salt. Everything else on the menu from those meals has faded from memory, but the taste of fresh corn lingers in my primal brain.

We loved the blueberries, corn & tomatoes from the farm stands, and ate our way through August and on into September when at some point we noticed that the table was now set with canned beans or peas with a side of iceberg lettuce. Phooey!

I remember long hours helping my mother to can peaches, pears, and tomatoes on  hot August afternoons. I sat on the picnic bench & cut, peeled, lifted skins & pits out so that she could make the wonderful jeweled rows of canned fruit that we relied on during those Michigan winters. One year we made grape juice & the deep purple contrasted beautifully with the golden pears & red spaghetti sauce on the shelf in the root cellar. We drank that juice many a Sunday night with our popcorn as we watched the Ed Sullivan show or Disney. No coke or chips were ever in the house and this was a treat indeed!

Now that I think about it- almost all of our sweets were homemade except for ice cream Sunday drives or penny candy bought on trips to Grandma Bogner’s house. Some special Sundays we made fudge with black walnuts that my sister & I cracked using a hammer on the basement floor. They were ready once the fleshy green hulls had blackened and fallen off while being driven over & pushed into the dirt driveway.

One year mom won a prize at the Diamond’s Hatchery where she bought her eggs & chicken. One hundred baby chicks… They were so cute, and noisy! She enterprisingly traded them to a friendly farmer for the prize of a dozen full grown hens. I remember dropping off the chicks into their heated house lined with straw & fitted with water cans & feed cans. The next thing I remember is a line of chickens hanging upside down from the clothesline dripping blood onto the backyard grass. It was a pretty scary sight, so near to my swing set, and I have conveniently forgotten when or how we ate those birds. They entered the food chain and that was it.  Most of us have forgotten the relationship between our food and its death or sacrifice.  Whether a carrot or a chicken, something ended its life cycle for our health & life.  Better that I should experience this chicken harvest again soon, than to forget about this.

More on my early food memories: The milkman delivered quarts of whole milk in glass bottles into the insulated box on our front porch on an almost daily basis. He mysteriously arrived before I was up even on the coldest of winter nights. In our cold Michigan winters, the milk would often freeze in a relatively short time and push the little cardboard tops up. Some mornings, you would find a small tower of frozen milk protruding from the bottle. That little top hat of cream rising out of the top of the bottle was so fun to see. My dad always claimed that for his coffee, and would drink it black once the cream was gone. My mom was proud of her absolutely clean empties that she would put back in the box. Those bottles were re-used so many times, I wonder how many, and where are they now? The milk was processed in a small plant just a few blocks from home, and there were lines of big steel cans sitting on a metal conveyor for years after it closed down, until  housewives started collecting them to paint on, I guess.

Yes, I see now that we ate local food all the time, but it wasn’t a bragging point – it was just how things were. More memories coming soon!Things like riding in the wheat harvesting wagon & making bread & sauerkraut…

Hollywood has brought us yet another opportunity to tune into a possible future…

I loved it deeply, have seen it twice so far (3D was great!) and will see it again, I know.

Reading so many descriptions, reviews, got to give my own…

For me it was at least an offering to the vision of a beautiful future for our own planet – a vision of  community, shared food, simple life in nature.  Ok – that is merely the surface – I am trying to speak of DEEP ECOLOGY, the right relationships that can come with reverence for other Beings – be they trees or animals.  All of this was implied in the world of the Tribal Forest People.

I want to speak right now of our relationship to the meat we eat.  As a cook & nutritionist I have been through many phases of vegetarianism since 1970 when I discovered brown rice & macrobiotics.  I now eat a small amount of local or organic poultry & wild fish, as well as using broth from bones.  Although I do not kill my own meat, I have done so.  years ago I was a communal caretaker of goats, chickens, rabbits, ducks.  We fished and certainly i gutted, descaled & cleaned lots of fish as a child with my grandfather. I believe that we each should be able & willing to do that – to clean the organs, cleave meat from bone, access the animal’s raw biology & flesh.  If we cannot bear to think about that – how can we justify being carnivores – eating such an offering from the life blood & sacrifice of this Being?   And, so – I ask us all to question our inner truth, what do we eat, how do we offer it into our very metabolism, as it becomes part of our own flesh, do we give thanks, do we revere the life that has been lost to save our own?  It is the true spirituality of food, and an opportunity to again – say Grace, give thanks and make the food into love & a blessing to our bodies.  (And I am talking about plants here too, by the way)

So, let’s think about the hunting scenes…using bow & arrow, knife, a more equal challenge between the prey & the hunter…

In the words of Lauren Raine – www.threadsofspiderwoman.blogspot.com

…They even had enough anthropological understanding to include the hunter who prays over the body of the fallen prey, offering thanks for the gift of its meat – this is, indeed, what native peoples universally did in both myth and in practice, recognizing and honoring that the animal has sacrificed its life to sustain the life of the tribe. Most Americans do not equate the hamburger they buy with an animal that has lost its life, let alone do they comprehend a spiritual system that respects the exchange of life force and energy that has taken place. What a wonderful concept to introduce to the young people who watched the movie…

To finish – I invite each of you readers to see this movie as a deeper symbol of more than the politics between conqueror & conquered (European Invaders vs Indians, etc) and other wonderful analogies that can be made about resource extraction, but rather – as a mythology for the spirituality of nature & our place in it, the very Gaian Philosophy of Lovelock & Deep Ecologists such as Joanna Macy!  I will even take it one step further – in the scenes at the Tree of Life - we witnessed a ritual of healing involving the synthesis of an entire community acting & tuning as one – the possibilities of which break open our own limited beliefs in “Self & Other”.  Tune to each other, become true community, unite in compassion & shared life, healing.  Enjoy, live in joy, fly!  I think I got it.