so obviously I never got around to keeping a food diary focusing on local foods. homework, facebook, girls, boys, npr, the daily show/colbert report, work got the better of me. but basically - all of the food in my house on a regular basis comes from far far away and doesn't generally taste very good.

Grapes from Chile

Clif Bars from California

Spinach from California

Almonds from California

Kroger products from Cincinnatti (who knows where they are actually from before they get distributed from Cinncinnati - i don't know how to spell this haha)

Bananas from Ecuador

Apples (out of season) from Washington

Cheese from New York and Vermont

I don't think I could find one thing in my house that's grown and produced locally.

Wow.

I shouldn't be surprised, but once you start paying attention it really sort of knocks the wind out of you.

So this spring/summer is going to revolve around me trying to join a CASA and buy vegetables and fruits from them, going to lots of U-Pick places and picking TONS of fruit, working on farms in the surrounding area, learning how to store/can/freeze produce form the summer so I can eat it throughout the winter.

Where does my food come from?

Last week I started reading Barbara Kingsolver's memoir-ish Animal, Vegetable, Miracle which is an account of her family's move to Appalaicha and the year they spent trying to eat only local food that had been grown and produced in their own county. Even after finishing only the first quarter of the book, I have been struck with the urge to find out where my food comes from, in every sense. As grocery-store oriented as we are, we tend to think that food comes from the grocery store, forgetting that it actually grows. Yeah, really! Like, in the dirt. And we tend to forget that foods come in seasons. Grapes for example. Yesterday I came home and there was a bowl of grapes in the fridge. It's February and I live in Tennessee. There are also avocadoes, raisins, apples, peppers, and spinach in my fridge. I'm pretty sure avocados don't grow here, and I know for sure that it's not apple or pepper season. I have suddenly become almost self-conscious of the fact that I - me- a person who likes to think of herself as environmentally, socially, politically, economically aware, a person who likes to think of herself as intelligent and thoughtful doesn't know where her food comes from. I don't know where it comes from, how it's grown, how it's harvested, when it's in season, who picked it, how far it traveled to get here. . . granted I know basic things like apples grow in the fall and strawberries come in the summer but the number of things I don't know outweigh the things I do.

So, so, so.

I've decided something.

I've decided that just for the next week I am going to keep track of everything I eat. Not for dieting or calorie-counting purposes, but to find out where my food comes from. I am going to keep track of:

-where it was grown

-where it was processed/packaged/produced/shipped from

-how many miles away from me that is

-ingredients and where those all were grown and came from

-HOW certain food is grown, and where it is most abundant

-is it in season?

-price

-deliciousness (taste factor)

-packaging (cardboard box, plastic wrapping, etc.)

My goal is twofold: to educate myself, and to see if eating only locally and in season would be less expensive than my household's current food costs.

Bon Apetit. Aren't fossil fuels yummmmmmy? :)

and yet. . . .

I don't know how to do things. I don't know how to accomplish things, or, more specifically, complete things. I am forever writing down my daily thoughts, ideas, goals, book recommendations on endless slips of paper and yet . . . . .

I am endlessly dreaming of writing, drawing, working on creative projects, writing papers, making music, the days when I will do all these things and yet. . . . .

I think at least three times a week of all the places I long to travel to, everything I long to do, the walk across england I long to take, the experiences I dream of having and yet. . . . .

I am a flurry of tightly wound, anxious energy that dissipates into ellipses before even reaching my fingertips. . . .

and yet. . . .

I dream of the day when all this anxiety, and over-thought will cease, when the tension will melt from my shoulders, when I will write every day, and challenge my brain to truly think every day, and when i will run with ease over the rolling hills of my landscape, and yet. . . .

that day continues to elude me.

Whether this is of my own doing, or simply a pipe dream, I do not know.

there is only uncertainty. i must accept this.

and yet. . . .

"the opposite of a great truth is also a great truth"