Cross Country Mom: conversation

Sunday, August 19, 2012

HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS

“It is good to have an end to journey towards,” wrote Ursula LeGuin, “but it is the journey that matters in the end.”

More than any other thing on this trip, that has held true for us. We’ve never traveled more than 125 miles in one day, a couple of hours or maybe three on the freeway; but sometimes it’s taken us as much as ten hours to cover a meager 50 miles on the bicycle routes we’ve followed. And that has come to be the norm for us.

Winding back roads have taken us past bison farms and waterfalls, rolling hills have had us all sucking on lollipops to ward off motion sickness, and ridiculously curving mountain trails have had us (well mostly me) grimacing as we picture Daddy racing along those downhills.

But most of all it’s the lives we’ve seen on those rural routes that have engendered some the most amazing conversations I’ve ever had with my kids.

I’ve had serious heartfelt discussions with my thirteen and nine year olds about the causes and results of poverty, about how hard it is to properly train a dog, about farming techniques and advances, about how businesses survive or fail, about why some schools start and end at different times, about the politics of everything, about why I don’t like celery (an experience with those strings at a very early age), about the profound influence of weather, about the causes of the Civil War and from there about the causes of other wars, about why I insist they brush their teeth two times a day, about terrorism both against and by the United States, about the plight of the Native Americans and its history, and about whether we’re going to find gas before our tank hits empty.

What we forgot during our journey on the roads less travelled is that most likely very close by there was a freeway on which thousands of travelers not so very different from ourselves were whizzing to their destinations at 75 miles an hour with nothing to inspire dialogue but the posts signaling each exit. In the past few days our routes have more and more often taken us on those ten lane behemoths for at least part of our trip.

So lately we’ve talked about how much we don’t like highways.

We’ve slowed down and those super-handy, super-fast super-highways have become too supercharged for our mellowed sensibilities.

Oh, I know it’s one of those things that will fade in the next few weeks – probably, sadly, even quicker – but I’m a person who struggles against change so I’m feeling the need to make a gradual reentry into the fast paced world of northeastern suburbia. The children, as children are wont to do, are handling the transition much better; and each reminder of the high-speed existence we’re returning to gets them more and more excited to get back to their normal lives.

I don’t know if it’s possible in the place we live, but I’m hoping I can bring a little of that byway unhurriedness into our day-to-day. I’m not sure how to go about it, but I need to strive for it. That’s definitely one of the life-changes I’m hoping to get from this saga.

Wish me luck.

For Gene's very different view of the same journey, check out his blog at www.ConnorsArmy.blogspot.com
To learn more about Connor's Army go to www.ConnorsArmy.org
To see exactly why we're doing this go to www.SunriseDayCamp.org
To make a tax deductible donation go to https://www.wizevents.com/register/register_add.php?sessid=1809&id=1056

Monday, July 23, 2012

NATURE VS. NURTURE

Here in the heart of America’s beef farms it’s been difficult to make sure vegetarian Sarah gets enough protein. It’s absolutely no exaggeration that every restaurant is either a barbeque joint or a steak house. She’s been surviving on grilled cheese, soggy vegetables, and the occasional spinach salad. William, on the other hand, has been happily living on hamburgers.

That may be about to change.

On our way out to San Diego we whizzed across the country in five and a half days on seventy-five mile an hour interstate highways. Part of what I’ve loved about the return trip has been the backroads route we’re taking home, which has allowed us to really see America in all its glory and degradation.

Its hometown pride and its abandoned towns. Its long held traditions and its technological downfalls. Its amber waves of grain and its drought decimated farms.

While I’ve been most disturbed by the empty storefronts and broken windows that signify the desperate struggle affecting so many of the people living in one-street towns across our country, the children have become focused upon the plight of the animals. Specifically the cows.

At first we passed field after emerald field of grazing cattle in all their bucolic beauty. Then yesterday we hit the industrial ranches.

In other words, the feed lots.

Just having heard about them and how they treat the animals had been hard enough, but actually seeing them was almost physically painful. Hundreds upon hundreds of animals crammed into pens with nothing to do but stand in dirt hardened by the blazing sun. Tiny canopies give brief respite from the heat to a few, while the others mill about trying to find relief in each others’ shadows. Even their feed is dried out and in the 100 plus degree heat, water is nigh on impossible for them to push through the crowd to reach.

Having to explain this inhuman treatment of animals by humans to my children was tough, but having to tell them that this is where all the beef we eat comes from was shaming.

Most difficult to process, though, was the day we passed hundreds of miserable cows walking in each others’ filth who were forced to spend their days watching the contented herd just across the street grazing in the pastoral splendor of a tree studded field with a stream running through it. This juxtaposition of sad cows and happy cows caused much consternation in our car; and was the trigger of a long conversation about the plight of the local farmer versus the corporate farmer, and the temptation of the one to move into the ‘modern’ world of the other.

It’s been an interesting verbal journey that confirmed Sarah’s non-meat diet and began what I’m afraid is her voyage towards veganism, although I’ve told her she can only become a vegan when she’s prepared to make all her own meals to eat with the family. With all we’ve seen with our own eyes, though, I think we’ve all felt pulled towards the meatless world

In the end I think William will continue his carnivorous ways for now, as will the rest of us. But I hope the images of the happy cows and the sad cows will stay with all my children and affect the food choices they make in the future.

I know that I’ll be looking for meat, poultry and dairy from local farms and small ranches where they treat their animals with dignity and with the gratitude they deserve for providing our nourishment like the one owned by the family we spent the day with today.

I may be a card carrying carnivore, but at least I can do my part to support the small farms that were once the backbone of our entire agricultural system.