Sometimes the most mundane activity inspires the most profound thoughts. After gathering a spring harvest of radishes and early onions, I slipped a piece of bright red crunch into my mouth and experienced the most revelatory moment:
I made this.
Urban Americans are so disconnected from food origins that it takes a profound act of courage to eat something that no one has inspected, or vetted, or processed, or labeled, or packaged. In a culture where every single piece of fruit literally has a label and a number; where small storefront grocery stores are mistrusted if not demonized; where children ask “what is it” when confronted with a cherry tomato on the vine, and have never snipped the ends off a bean, eating something that only you and God have touched is nearly subversive, if not actively revolutionary.
I learned from a friend on MyFolia that “in the UK, everyone is ENTITLED to an allotment, because “landless citizens have a right to the commons.” Here in the states we’ve let cities like Detroit and New Orleans die, because god forbid someone should use someone else’s land (i.e. vacant, abandoned lot) to grow their own food. God forbid the government or private companies should be compelled to redeem land that they allowed those companies to poison, so that no one CAN use it to grow things on, while allowing agribusiness to drench our inspected, vetted, processed, labeled, packaged foods with poison.
I grew a radish, a carrot, a tomato, a bean. I ate it hot from the sun—God’s hand to my mouth.
I am a revolutionary.