I love this article in the NY Times about rabbit. I don’t know that I could raise and kill my own meat, but there’s something really comforting to me about knowing that there are people out there who are learning to do this and about the concept of an urban farm.
I love farms. My grandparents have a hay farm in Maine with a huge vegetable garden and an apple orchard. I grew up in South Jersey, spending most of my days at my best friend Emily’s family dairy farm or working on a blueberry farm. Little brings me joy in life the way farm fresh food does. I’ll sit for hours in my grandmother’s garden and lay waste to tomatoes and green beans. I remember being scolded at Emily’s because as we were eating the corn we were supposed to be shucking for dinner. It is so satisfying to me to be sore and sunburned and covered in dirt from working all day on the farm, but still stay in the field until dark picking blueberries.
Moving to a city, getting a job that requires a significant amount of time behind a desk, and having hobbies like blogging and tweeting mean my farm days are long gone. Articles like this give me a glimmer of hope that maybe they don’t have to be.