My flight touched down in Edmonton and I waited, squirmy baby in my arms, for the next set of passengers to board before we took off to Regina.  People started filing in and I couldn’t help but notice a couple: she was over six feet tall, had very masculine features and a suspicious bust; he was quite petite, small-boned and soft spoken.  They plunked themselves in the seats behind me, then I heard them saying they were in the wrong row and before I knew it, the man was squished next to me and the woman was in the aisle seat.  He was very friendly and took an interest in Jolie.  We made pleasant conversation while the woman pulled a copy of Middlesex and began to quietly read.  The man asked if Regina was home for me and I admitted to having been born and raised there.  So had he.  I asked which school he had gone to and we quickly discovered that we had gone to the same elementary school and began reminiscing about past teachers we had shared, despite his being three years my senior.

“What a small world!” I remarked, “What’s your name?”

“I’m not going to tell you that!” he joked.  But then I realized he wasn’t kidding.  And in that instant I looked into his eyes and remembered seeing them before, on the face of a young girl.  She had been three years older than I, and everyone at school called her Boner and gossipped that she was a lesbian.  Older kids told us that when we biked past her house we had to hold our breath, otherwise we’d become lesbians too.  She was marginalized, teased, and an outcast by the time she was 12.  I never really knew her, because when you’re in grade school, a three year age gap is an ocean.  She was kind, though.  I remember talking to her at the park once, but that’s about it.

I took a closer look at his face and saw other features I recognized, noticed that his wrists were slight like mine, but that he had facial hair, a deep voice, and a flat chest.  I assume that he had either undergone a sex change operation or was taking hormones.

I didn’t let on that I recognized him or remembered pieces of his past he’d probably rather forget.

We got to talking more and he told me that he is a nurse, and that he works in the community with marginalized youth. I noticed the rainbow on the bead of his eyebrow ring and on the scarf folded on his lap. He had endured such anguish on his journey but was now spending his days reaching out to those who might be struggling.  I wondered how much of his path had been dictated by the cruel rants of school children, how much was nature, how much was choice.

When the plane landed he gathered his things and said, “Au revoir, Jolie.  Je m’appelle Jeremy.*”

*Name changed out of respect, and also a little fear of the Almighty Google.

When I watched the disturbing documentary, Earthlings, a few months back, it was the first step in a journey I didn’t know I was about to take.  After learning about the gruesome realities of commercial farming practices, it seemed like the natural solution was to become a vegetarian or vegan, and thus stop the vicious circle of cruelty and abuse.  I didn’t make the firm decision to completely give up meat or animal products, but since watching the movie I have only eaten meat, on average, once a week.  (We have local beef in our deep freeze and that’s been the only meat I’ve prepared.  Often Steve will have one of the steaks while I have something bean or dairy-based for my protein source.)  And even then it was often hard to stomach.  Since becoming anemic with this pregnancy I had the occasional burger and chose not to wonder about how the cow that made it was treated in the process:  blissful ignorance for iron’s sake.  So, I was still not ready to declare myself a total vegetarian but was living as close to it as I ever had.

Yesterday night I finished reading Plenty, a book that chronicles the experience of the authors as they tried to eat locally, within a 100-mile distance from their home, for one year.  They investigate the toll that our global food trade has taken on farmers and the land and our planet.  It’s a very well written book and quite eye-opening and inspiring.  However, it made me realize that by solving one problem, another is often created.

Whereas I originally assumed that vegetarianism was the answer after watching Earthlings, I have realized that many of the protein options that vegetarians rely on come from the other side of the world.  There are no soybean farms in my neighbourhood, no chick pea fields down the street.   So, is it better to eat local meats or long-distance beans?  No matter which option I choose, it seems that someone pays the price.

It’s clear to me that I still want to be a little removed from my food source.  I would consider keeping some chickens in our orchard and I would have no problem throwing grain into their pens, retrieving their fresh eggs, and taking pride in the fact they they are well cared for and happy and free.  But could I be the one to lop off their heads, throw their quaking bodies in boiling water, pluck out their feathers and then slice into their guts to rip out their entrails?  I don’t think so.  The biggest thing I have ever killed is a wasp, and even then my stomach churned when its yellow guts oozed onto the window I smooshed it against with my swatter.  Steve is convinced that I could grow accustomed to slaughtering chickens and that it would be good for me and our kids to see what it takes to get a drumstick on our plates.  I agree.  In theory.  Honestly, I would way rather eat falafel and tofu and beans for the rest of my life instead of ripping organs out of animals I have killed.  If I can’t do the deed, I should just eat a seed.  How’s that for a new veggie slogan?

So, here I am today.  Still wondering and searching and feeling more than a little overwhelmed by the state of the world.  There is just so much wrong with the systems we’ve created, but change feels so illusive.  And, quite frankly, there are some things about the terrible systems that I kind of enjoy, like the clothes I get for a great deal at the big box store, the taste of a ridiculously overpriced frappuccino from Starbucks, the convenience of frozen pizza.   How can I combat child labour and sweatshops and capitalism and laziness when I not-so-secretly savour some of their fruits?  Do I really have what it takes to live off the land?  Even though I HATE pulling weeds and don’t know the first thing about home preserves?  We’d probably all die of botulism poisoning if I tried to can some jam.

And, most importantly, what about Diet Coke?

I wish that we could create a sort of city-wide commune among our friends, in that we’d all have something we were responsible for creating and then we would share everything with everyone.  We would obviously grow the apples, someone else could kill the chickens, someone else could make organic cheese from happy cows who get patted on the back while they’re milked, someone else could keep a vegetable garden, someone else could make honey, and someone else could grow grain and grind it into flour.  Then we could all eat locally, and ethically, and feel connected (but not too connected…remember, someone else would kill the chickens) to our food.

Before you know it, my armpit hair is going to tuft out the bottom of my tank top and you’ll have to remind me why I used to wear a bra.

The thing I am happy about, in the midst of so much uncertainty about what my next step ought to be, is that I now care about things I used to be completely unaware of.  And that’s a good place to be, a good place to start.

Last night Steve and I watched Earthlings. Have you seen it? I didn’t really know too much about it other than it was intense. I like a good documentary and thought it would be informative. Well, it was. Too much so. It’s all about how humans regard animals and the ways they serve us: they feed, clothe and entertain us at ghastly expenses. I had never seen footage of slaughterhouses before and I feel like something has changed in me now that I have. The cruelty is appalling. I guess I thought that the meat I ate came from a happy cow whose time had come and he would have been quickly killed with a shot to the head. The gore that actually spills from the slaughterhouses is unbelievable. While I kind of miss my blissful ignorance, I feel like my eyes have finally been opened.

After watching the movie, Steve and I got into an hours-long conversation about everything that is wrong with this world of ours. Everything is so messed up. But how do we fix it? How can we turn the tide?

Should we join a commune where we grow our own organic cotton and sew our own clothes and harvest our own wheat to mill our own flour and get a kind cow to milk everyday and whittle our children’s toys from old apple branches? Oh, and we need to get an electric car, or better yet, we should just walk everywhere, in our pleather sandals.

How then shall we live?

We are inevitably going to leave our footprints on the earth, but I guess the goal is to tread as lightly as possible. We do some little things right now (we recycle and compost and use non-toxic cleaners in our home) but I feel the responsibility to do so much more than I ever have.

Are we going to become vegetarians? Perhaps. Vegans? Maybe. Dirty hippies on an organic commune? Who knows. I just realized how sadly disconnected I am from the sources of the food we eat, the clothes we wear, and the things we consume.

I am one sad and disturbed earthling today.