Fowl

Peace has come to our yard. Two doves have taken up residence and, nature being what it is, they will soon have fledglings. The Boy believes they are chickens. "Look, daddy, two chickens are on the wire. I want to get them." "They're doves and the power line is too high for you to get to," I informed him. "You lift me up there," he asked. "I can't. I'm not big enough to lift you," I told him. "Get bigger," he demanded, "I want those chickens."

He thinks everything is chickens - plural. Any meaty entree is chickens - anything but hot dogs, that is. Despite all our attempts to identify foodstuffs, he refers to flesh as chickens. Considering his love for the fowl, including a request for one as a pet, it's a bit disturbing that all the meat he shoves into his mouth is to him, chickens. I don't think he's made the connection.

I was for many years a vegetarian. It wasn't for health reasons or a Morrissey inspired Meat is Murder ethical choice. I was a vegetarian because meat grossed me out. I made the connection and everytime I looked at flesh on a plate I became nauseated. It was purely aesthetics. I happily made do without it and I'm sure that those years of fruits and vegetables have added a couple of months to my life, though there's no way to measure that. During that time I could, upon occasion, muster the desire for the flesh of a once living creature. I would feel no nausea and enjoyed it immensely, but that was only once or twice a year. When I finally returned to meat after five years or so, it wasn't a tortured decision pondered over sleepless nights, my soul hanging in the balance. I just didn't get sick thinking about it anymore.

Many of our meals now have a meat component. There may not be a big slab of beef or whole chicken in the center of the table. It may only be a few thin slices of prosciutto mixed among the olives and feta on a pizza or some chicken stock as a base for vegetable soup. There are times that I feel the queasiness of old and since I do the cooking, the family suffers through a veggie night, but those are rare. In general, my family is omniverous.

When the Boy was born I seriously thought of returning to a vegetarian lifestyle. It seemed a good way to start one's life and if it could be maintained, a healthy one for him - for all of us. In the end, though, I decided that it would be an option available to him once he could understand the concept, and if he chose to remove meat from his diet I would do everything I could to accomodate him. As it is, the meat is infrequent enough and the veggies are usually a hit so I worry very little.

We are considering making all of our beef purchase from ranchers who grass-feed and keep their stock off the chemicals. A quarter-beef is, relatively speaking, not that much more expensive and the only thing that might cause problems is the lack of freezer space. For now we buy from the farmer's market most of our veggies and eggs. Michael Pollan's, Omnivore's Dilemma, has been my prop. It's not unreasonable to mix up our diet with vegetables, fruit, and meat, but we prefer to do so from local, known, suppliers. It's better that way, and the taste is much improved over the goods of the ag-industrial complex.

Tonight we're having chicken - real chicken. The Boy is looking forward to it. But then, it's all chickens to him.