Eating Local Stinks

As you are well aware, September was "Eat Local" month, and I griped and moaned for the three weeks I half-assedly participated. 

(Reminds me of the time my law school roommate and I agreed to partner up on a project, and to each contribute a quarter of an ass, so that our combined effort would be merely half-assed.)

I don't know that I learned all that much, so much as it was brought home to me how much our immediate environments are changing.  For instance, when I was knee-high to a grasshopper, as they say, my grandmother's immediate neighborhood was surrounded by cornfields.  (And she and my grandfather had that house built as part of a developing community, so I guess they were sprawling subdivisioners before sprawling subdivisioners were cool.)

This is what it used to look like, for a 30 minute drive in any direction.

I knew that cornfields have been getting mown down even as the McMansions have been popping up, but when I was back in Illinois I was astounded, as I drove the half hour to get to the purported farmer's market that wasn't there, that the entire route that I expected to be between cornfields, was now instead flanked by these.

It reminded me of back in the '80s when Sting was hanging out with those Amazonian Indians in Brazil, the ones with the saucers in their lower lips: they came to my high school to talk about deforestation and noted that this one half hour plane ride from here to there in Brazil used to be 100% rain forest, and five years later there was forest below them for only the last 5 minutes of the flight.

But I've made an effort to get to the farmer's market; I was bummed when the weekend got away from me and I didn't make it to the Harvest Festival over in Fremont this past weekend - I like to think I've absorbed a little of the seasonal spirit that trying to eat local ignites.  Speaking of ignites...oh, I'll get to that.

I've also gotten caught up in the grooviness of it and have hippied out in other ways.  Because I tried to avoid buying anything not-local in September, when I ran out of the Vanilla Sparkle antiperspirant I love so much, I rummaged through my cupboard and found this Deoderant Crystal I bought at the health food store many months ago but have been afraid to try. 

I guess it's just a big block of salt, right?  You moisten it under the tap and rub it around in your pits. 

Much to my surprise, it seems to work.  It doesn't stop you sweating like antiperspirant does (by blocking the pores with aluminum, if I understand correctly), but you don't smell like anything. 

I've been playing it safe by patting myself with a big puff full of mango-scented talcum powder I swiped from my grandmother's, and spritzing with one of the perfumes my dad is so reliable about gifting.  (This month it's True Star, the Beyonce-inspired scent from Tommy Hilfiger.  True Star "captures the essence of a private performance by the American superstar and the alluring play of her gleaming radiance, confidence and modesty."  That's so me!  Gleaming modesty!  Private performances!)  I used to think perfume was kind of an unnecessary extra step, but now, with the powder puff and the spritzing, I feel kind of old fashioned and feminine. 

(There's a guy at work who wears cologne - not in a Guido way, just enough to make you turn your head after he walks by, and think, "Oh!  That was a Man, man!"  It's nice.  I know a lot of people have allergies, but I think I'm going to help him bring back scents in the workplace.)

I've also been taking more scented baths.  I pulled out my big store of essential oils for a chapstick making party last month, and kept them out to squirt in the tub.  Word to the wise: a little patchouli goes a loooooooong way.

Long story, I'm feeling pretty good about the crystal: Ace hasn't said a word about me smelling sweaty.

Then again, it may not be the first thing his nose is picking up. 

Because I was trying not to buy anything new that wasn't local last month, I was short on protein sources other than eggs.  (Oh, and sometime I'll tell you about the goat yogurt I got.)  So I raided the cupboards for dried beans, and, well, I'll let your imagination be your guide.

My dad told me I "reeked."  So true.  So embarrassing.  So antisocial!  More patchouli!

But then yesterday I followed a link from Extreme Pumpkins, where the EP guy explained that his business was an online drugstore that would discreetly ship to you all the things you were way too embarrassed to take to a live person at a cash register.

Bean-o!  Charcoal pills!  Nullo! The Flat D Fart-Filtering Chair Pad!

Now that I'm off the beans, October seems to be pretty quiet.  The wildfires in the state park have died down, if you will.  Still, I think locavores might find it prudent to stock up on just a few non-local items.  Nice to support local farmers and all, but maybe even nicer to be considerate of your actual neighbors.

Comments

[boots]

Sounds like you ended up being full-assed about it after all!!