7 Billion

Recently the human population passed the 7 billion mark. When I was in high school I took a class with the alarming title of World Problems. The primary learning tool was a branching diagram we would create as a class – largely via brainstorming and our imaginations – that displayed in graphic detail the causes and consequences of various issues that faced humanity. Population was one of the highlighted issues, and the diagrams were head-splittingly complicated and depressing. I could feel the pressure of 4 million people pressing on my soul and sucking up the planet’s resources.

I have heard it expressed from both the left and the right that some sort of population collapse event is inevitable. The tone of some of these interactions makes it clear that the speaker thinks that would be a good thing. The speaker, of course, always assumes on some level that they themselves and those they care for will not die in the plague, civil disorder or asteroid strike that must be coming soon. For some reason, volcanic eruptions are not in the running. Nor is the collapse of the industrial food production system. I find this attitude completely understandable, but troublesome on a spiritual level. In what way is it appropriate to secretly – or not so secretly – wish for the death of billions of people?

I think we feel this way in part because we cannot imagine how all those people will be fed, and what kind of world we will have in the process. Scary as it is, I believe there is hope for us. This is not just blind faith in the goodness of the Universe. In the course of learning about sustainable food systems, I have come across some remarkable pieces of information.

The first is that mixed use, biodynamic farms produce more food per acre than conventional farms. A lot more. And not just more food, but food that is more nutritious, better for the environment, and humane. When animal inputs are mixed with gardens, the soil fertility increases and plants grow bigger and healthier. Nitrogen inputs become unnecessary, and healthier plants are less susceptable to insects and diseases. And livestock gets to live they way they evolved to; strolling around pastures, eating grass.

Second, with the application of swale agriculture, it is possible to grow crops in drylands where farming is difficult and the soil tends to get contaminated with salt. The short film Greening the Desert Geoff Lawson goes to the middle east and finds a salt contaminated piece of land in the desert and grows food there, even decontaminating the soil, something generally considered to be impossible without massive flushing with fresh water. The Permaculture techniques demonstrated in this video are not a matter of great expense, but of human creativity, observation, and understanding.

Third, while only a small percentage of land on the planet is suitable for farming via conventional methods, there are vast tracks of grassland that could support rotational grazers. Such grazing increases the health of both the land and the animals on it. Well-managed grasslands sequester more carbon than forests, reduce or eliminate erosion, hold more water that conventionally farmed fields, and reduce fire danger. All of these things add up to a better life for the entire planet and her residents.

7 billion people does mean a greater demand of resources, but it also means a greater pool of creativity and ingenuity. In high school I could not have imagined feeling hopeful about the future of humanity’s nearly 5 billion people. But now, at 7 billion, I find myself optimistic.

There Are No Bunnies! (but there are unicorns)

Recently on Facebook (doesn’t everything begin on FB?) I got into a discussion with a friend about subtle racism and re-framing. Her last word on the subject (it was, after all, her post, not mine) was that she believed that denying one’s emotions was unhealthy, a statement with which I have no argument whatsoever. I do however make a distinction between denying one’s emotions and controlling or redirecting them.

Pretending that one is not angry when one most emphatically is (insert tooth grinding here), or going on after the death of a loved one as if nothing had changed, is a recipe for immune system disruption and cognitive dissonance. Emotions are what keeps us alive. Lacking emotion, we have no desire, no motivation. Survival? Who cares? Why bother? Some spiritual paths would have us remove desire so that we can transcend this painful corporeal world and move on. They can go ahead and do that. It leaves more room for those of us that like it here.

But when emotions become consistently unpleasant, we have it within our power to change that. My own experience speaks to this. As much as I am annoyed by the sunshiny, unicorns and rainbows goodness of New Age philosophy, twenty years ago, it was all I had. The promise of feeling something other than sadness, anger and anxiety was one of the things that kept me going. Admittedly, positive affirmations are sort of like using a small rock hammer to break out of prison (and thank you Steven King for that very uplifting metaphor). But the bottom line was that fighting my negative emotions with a little rock hammer was better than letting them run away with me. At the very least I had some sense of control. The only reason I never attempted suicide was that I was very clear that leaving was a form of cheating, and I would just have to come back and do it all over again.

But eventually that little rock hammer started to make an actual dent. Supporting that, being Pagan meant that the things that made me feel good were actually not just ok, but sacred. Over the years, I have become quite good at recognizing both emotions, and the negative brain states that can either accompany or drive them. And I’ve added other, more sophisticated tools to that rock hammer. For years I have been learning about how what I eat affects how I think and feel. But recently, I have been looking again at how I manage my thought processes, and have discovered that positive thinking is supported by science. The new understanding of how the brain functions can give us choices about who we want to be.

Chronically disorganized? There’s an app for that. Think you are unlucky? Yup, there’s one for that too. There is a wide array of studies on both brain function and human behavior that show that what you pay attention to is like digging a canal. The more you focus on it, the easier it becomes. Since the rest of the body works this way, why not the brain? Lifting weights is hard at first, but as the muscles grow stronger, you can lift more. Bones get more dense when they experience compression. So The Secret is supported on the physical side by science. The down side of this type of functionality is that if one focuses on the negative, then that too gets dug into one’s consciousness.

It seems the brain can only do one thing at a time well. Apparently, multitasking drops you down to the level of an eight-year-old. (Nothing against kids here, but they can’t pay the rent.) Taking time each day to focus on, and think about what makes us feel good improves our well-being and our overall performance in life. People who do this are not only happier, they are more successful, and the people that they manage are also more productive and successful.

So when someone does something that raises my ire I have a choice. I can be angry or I can focus my attention on something else. It may even be that whatever that person did needs to be corrected or addressed, but I don’t need to be angry in order to do that. Corrections that come from a place of anger make messes that I don’t like cleaning up. We control our emotions every time we have to take a deep breath before we talk, and whenever we choose to put off a decision until our heads are clear. There is nothing unhealthy about that.

For more on the current science on brain function, productivity, and human happiness:
The Happiness Advantage by Shawn Achor
Your Brain at Work by David Rock

Pagan Kosher: Eat What Your Ancestors Ate

As I write this, Samhain has just passed. I think about my maternal grandfather who left his family in Boston because he was tired of being beaten over a badly recited catechism. He fled north to Maine where he must have helped one of the locals work the fields in exchange for room and board. He was listed on the 1910 census and then dropped off the radar for a while as he traveled around the country doing whatever job came his way. He did stone masonry and lumbering, and worked the railroads, and eventually made it back to Maine where he married my “Old Maid” grandmother. I never knew him, and barely knew her before she developed dementia.

Connecting with them is a challenge. Grandpa is a bit easier because mom was close to him and I have more stories. I like to do things with stone and wood as he did, and I often feel him near me when I am building rough stone walls or doing carpentry. Grandma is tougher. Mom found her critical and doesn’t talk about her much. But I know she cooked. And I know she canned food because some of the jars are still in the basement, 50 years later.

They ate what was available to them on the farm. They had a kitchen garden, which my mother revived as soon as she retired to the house. They had a dairy cow and raised a pig every year. There were numerous apple trees on the property. I still come across them in the woods, often with an apple or two high in the branches and deer tracks around their base. Only one still gets attention. The tree that grows in a small gap in the stone wall bordering the garden produces huge yellow apples that are tart and sweet, and perfect for baking or sauce. They don’t keep, but harvested in early September they made a fine apple sauce and pies. We don’t always have a good year for those apples, but when we do, I am in nervous tizzy figuring out if I can make it up to Maine at the right time to pick them. I them frantically make and can apple sauce as my grandmother must have done. I make mead with them too although I’m pretty sure my grandparents didn’t do that.

Eating what our ancestors ate connects us to them viscerally. It is a connection of the gut, of necessity. When I move stones, I know this is what my grandfather felt with his hands, his spine. When I eat applesauce, I know my grandmother’s relief and gratitude at being able to serve my family something tasty and nourishing. When I burn my fingers on the hot jars, I know her frustration and fatigue.

Ancestral foods are those of place, digestibility, and maximum nourishment over the long haul. Pemmican was such a superior food that native American hunters could go weeks eating that alone while still pursuing game. Traditionally fermented, raw sauerkraut has more vitamin C than the cabbage picked fresh from the ground, with a bonus of gut enhancing, immune boosting friendly bacteria. Raw milk from cows on fresh grass provides the same friendly bacteria, plus a dose of calcium, vitamin D, and other beneficial factors, all in a great tasting beverage.

All the ancient cultures had some form of fermented food, and ways to store food that enhanced its nutrient content. These traditional foods are why we, ourselves exist. Without these foods, fertility and health decline and we would not have been born. Indeed, fertility in industrialized nations has been declining. Reproduction becomes limited because the body lacks the tools to build new cells. Health fades as the healing systems of the body fail to keep up with demands.

Our Pagan traditions have deep roots and all those peoples had their own food preferences, some of which we moderns would find deeply unpleasant, if not disturbing. Watching a few episodes of Anthony Bourdain or Andrew Zimmern can give both the highs and the lows of eating as our ancestors did. And while Icelanders still eat fermented shark, they do it mostly to remember why they are grateful that they don’t have to.

Eating what our ancestors ate can bring both memories of joy and pain. A locally grown potato is delicious and full of vitamin C, and I cannot eat it without remembering that my great-grand parents came here from Ireland because they did not want their family to starve. That potato connects me with history. Food is power. As we say in my tradition:

The share food is to share life
To share life is to share joy and sorrow
Joy shared is multiplied, sorrow shared is lessened

To share delicious food is to experience community, with our ancestors, with our embodied friends and family, and with generations yet to be. To share not-so-tasty food is to share communion, and ease the pain of generations.

Food is Political Keystone

I find that I know people whom I don’t like much when it comes to politics. This is not because I don’t agree with their political views on a given subject. I am a socially liberal environmentalist, who owns guns, and has no faith in the ability of the federal government to regulate the details of our lives. I end up arguing with folks on both sides of the aisle. What makes me angry is when that discourse turns into rancorous displays of righteousness. When people get to this point, all communication stops and any chance of solving the problem – whatever it is – swirls down the drain. If we as a country have the idea that ‘those other people’ are stupid or, immoral, or nasty, how can we be surprised when Congress can’t get its proverbial head out of the you-know-what? I prefer to focus on something that unites us all. Food.

Everyone has to eat, and what we eat affect our health, our environment, our relationships, our economic system, and our energy needs. Both sides of the political spectrum have skin in this game. Foodies, survivalists, gardeners, and nutritionists can agree that having access to local, quality food is desirable. All of these people want tasty stuff to eat. That kind of food comes from artisanal producers. Producers that are regularly hassled by government inspectors and choked by expensive, pointless, and unnecessary regulations. Environmentalists want fewer toxins being dumped into waterways and a much lower use of fuel. The sustainable food movement addresses the desires of all of these people.

How we produce food is the greatest change we can make in affecting the planet and our humanity. From pasture or field to table, the difference between food produced biodynamically and food produced with industrial farming methods is a gulf bigger than the Grand Canyon. One third of the oil use in this country goes to industrial agriculture. If I grow my own vegetables and some fruits and preserve them in a traditional manner with lacto-fermentation, drying, root-cellaring, I’ve saved the fuel needed for fertilizer and machinery and refrigeration, and skipped the herbicides. I’ve also made a substantial step towards food security.

If I purchase part of a cow, or a lamb or pig, from a local farmer who has fed that animal on grass, I have saved the fuel used for running manure pumps on a CAFO, not contributed to the manure that goes into waterways from manure pools, and contributed to the production of healthy soil. If I smoke that meat, I can also reduce the cost of food storage. Buying right from the farmer produces relationships, builds community, and supports small and local businesses.

The plight of small farmers is also an issue that crosses political boundaries. Corporations do everything they can to eliminate the small fry that are their competition, and Democrats are highly focused on the evils of corporate influence. That influence extends well into the federal government, creating more bureaucracy and government controls, something that Republicans revile.

Finding common ground is the only way to move forward in any conflict.

Pagan Kosher: Pastured Meat

One of the most important beliefs that Pagans hold is that life is cyclical. We are born, we live, we die, and are re-born. Death is not escapable. No one gets out of here alive. Mortality is part of existence, but all things return. Relationship is another aspect that defines Pagan attitudes. For Pagans, deity is immanent in the world. Every rock, every tree, everything that moves and breathes is sacred. Including what we eat. It is very common for Pagans to feel a deep kinship with both animals and plants. This creates an ethical dilemma that conflicts with the natural cycles of life and death, and is not easy to solve. How does one eat one’s brother? Industrial farming is repugnant to anyone who takes the time to look. But even more so to a Pagan who claims kinship to all living things.

Veganism – the practice of eating no animal products at all – has been one solution to the relationship problem, although, as with the general population, vegetarianism – not eating animal flesh, but consuming dairy and eggs – is more common. For physiological reasons, veganism is extremely difficult to maintain, and generally requires far more asceticism than is generally acceptable in Paganism. Vegan Pagans don’t get much sympathy in a religion where enjoying one’s food can include exclaiming over bacon and groaning over a chocolate confection. Although most Pagans still eat a standard American diet, vegetarianism is common. I have yet to go to a Pagan event that did not have some sort of vegetarian option for food.

Another aspect that defines Paganism is the sacred earth. Modern Paganism was deeply influenced by the environmental movement, and as a religion based on the seasonal cycles of nature, we honor the health of the planet. Sadly, modern methods of meat production are bad for every living being directly involved with, or anywhere near the process. A great deal has been written about these issues and it is not my intent to re-cap them here. Nor is it my intent to convince anyone to be a vegetarian. Our ancestors ate meat, and every culture seeks access to more if they do not have a ready supply. This is not a failing, it is part of being human.

Cattle, pigs, and chickens did not evolve in sheds, jammed one on top of the other. Cattle did not evolve eating grain but grass, and chickens are omnivorous. When these animals and other ruminants are fed on grass instead of being placed in CAFOs (confined animal feeding operations), they are more healthy, and happy. But this is not the only benefit.

It is possible for farming, when done in a way that mimics the cycles of nature, to heal and restore degraded grasslands, green up areas that have fallen to desertification, and balance overgrown forests, and tie up carbon. The thick layer of soil on the American prairies at the turn of the century was the result of patterns of movement by the bison. They gathered tightly together to protect against wolf predation. They left piles of manure and trampled ground behind them. A day or two later the birds came in and picked the larvae out of the muck and scattered the manure. The grass shed some root – which broke down into loam – and then re-grew, thicker than before. This pattern can be mimicked, which is the concept of biodynamic farming or permaculture. Not an ancient concept, but a new one that demands considerable conscious attention to the land. This is a vision of cattle, chickens, pigs and other domestic herd animals being raised and cared for with respect on small farms, and in a way that allows them to express their essential being: Ruminants eating grass, chickens eating bugs, pigs rooting in forest-lands. This supports the health of the planet, of food animals, of forests and grasslands, and last but not least, humans.

And yes, I advocate eating them. If humans did not eat them, they would, like kudzu, over-run the planet. Largely because they threw in their lot with humans, domesticated animals are terrifically successful, and they are not going to control their breeding if we stop eating them. Humans are population control for cows and chickens, as wolves are for elk and other deer. Culling is not just a part of nature that we in the industrialized world can ignore, it is inherent to it. All things eat, from humans to wolves to chickens to microbes to fungi. And in the end, we too will be consumed. To honor and acknowledge that which dies in order to nourish us, acknowledges the cycle of life and death in its entirety.

Our spiritual ancestors lived close to the land. They farmed, they hunted. They raised cattle and pigs and chickens and these too thrived (at least when there were not drought conditions) from what the earth grew. Manure and kitchen waste was returned to the soil because the plants grew better when nutrients were returned to it. This is the cycle of birth, life, death and renewal that we celebrate.

Memorializing 9-11

This is the year that I finally grieved for the events of 9-11-01. Standing in the kitchen after being in hospital for two days over low blood pressure and heart palpations, I finally watched the events re-capped on TV instead of changing the channel as I have done for ten years. A week after the anniversary, and my heart still aching in my chest, I stood at my breakfast bar and sobbed while the planes hit structures and ground, and while buildings crumbled.

The vile political atmosphere most certainly contributed to the stress of my recent medical adventure. Just prior to the anniversary of the events of 9-11 there were a number of bloggers who said we should tone it down and minimize those events, because people needed to just forget and heal, and that these memorial ceremonies were a form of political grandstanding. But forgetting and healing are not synonymous, and formal, public recognition of the losses we suffer as a community transcends politics.

When the planes hit the towers, I was visiting my then fiancé in Connecticut. I did not particularly like the frenetic energy of the state. Compared to Maine, it is isolating and stressful. But love is not always convenient, so here I was, preparing to head back north. My husband – who grew up here – refers to Connecticut as the freeway of New England and the bedroom of New York. But for this, Connecticut stopped. Greenwich, Stamford and Norwalk, have, or are working on, permanent memorial sites and I’m sure the same is true in northern New Jersey.

Loss ties us together, and acknowledging loss reminds us of our weaknesses, our human frailty, and participating in public memorials is an act of community, of empathy, of kindness. It is a gift to those who have lost, or a statement of shared grief. It is an act not just of respect for those who died, but an act of connection to our shared history, to our ancestors.

And as I stood in my kitchen, sobbing for the loss of thousands, there was joy. Joy because there were those that, even as they died, exemplified what is best about humans. Some of us are willing to let go of what is most precious to us – our very lives – to protect others of our species. They may be paid professionals, or they may be the guy sitting next to you.

What I find most beautiful about this country is the willingness to put aside differences when it most counts. Not as a conscious decision, but as a spontaneous gift. I was living in Bay Area in 1989 when the earth quake hit. Then, as on 9-11, average people risked their lives to help those in need. They did not stop to consider race, religion, or ethnicity. They helped. Nor did those involved in the events of 9-11 stop to think about such things. Ordinary people simply acted with nobility and honor. Divisions, differences in ideology, were less important than our commonalities.

But while we remember natural disasters, we do not create memorial rituals around them. We do not need to. We memorialize wars, genocide, and terrorism, and we do not do it to celebrate those events, but because we need to counter these acts of human aggression with an act of community. Nature’s violence is awesome and terrifying, but it is not personal, and it is the personal that hurts us so deeply that we need to gather to remember, and heal within the context of ritual and kinship. For someone to suggest that we should tone down or forget 9-11 is an act of division and calluosness. To remember 9-11, or Pearl Harbor, or D-Day, or the Holocaust is to take the time to acknowledge both what is worst and best in humanity.

Pagan Kosher: Permaculture

The second principle is eating clean food produced without chemicals, preferably using