To Kill a Pig/Shaped by the Harvest
Part I
First Reading: Excerpts from “The Case for Renewal” by Emma Marris
In the midst of a swirling sea of sorrow, anxiety, fury, and love for the beautiful weirdness of life on Earth, I find an iron determination to never, ever, give up.
What gives me hope? We already have the knowledge and technology we need to feed a larger population, provide energy for all, begin to reverse climate change, and prevent most extinctions. The public desire for action is bursting forth on the streets…. Just as in 1970, the electric crackle of cultural change is once again in the air. I believe we will build a good 2070.
It will not look like 2020 or 1970. We cannot undo what we’ve done; we cannot go back in time. Change—ecological, economic, social—is inevitable….
We will change too. Many of us will learn to see ourselves differently, as one species among many—a part of nature, not in opposition to it….
…Forces such as colonialism and racism are part of the climate crisis and need to be addressed as part of the solution…. Real climate justice would make Earth more resilient even as it helped humanity heal from historic trauma and pain. In a sense, climate change is an opportunity for us to step up—to grow up—as a species.
This piece from Emma Marris comes from this month’s National Geographic - dedicated to the 50th anniversary of Earth Day with its first ever flip issue. Two magazines in one starting on flipped and opposite sides.
On one side the image of verdant and watery globe with the headline - “How we saved the world: an optimists guide to life on earth in 2070.” This futurist piece celebrates right action, regeneration and the 100th commemoration of Earth Day as a time for celebration without the need for protest.
Flip the magazine over to see a dry, scorched earth with the words : “How We Lost the Earth: a pessimists guide to Life on Earth in 2070.”
This piece, written from the perspective of an equally possible future, describes unrelenting extreme weather events, the disappearance of coastal cities, renewable energy fixes that don’t go far enough, huge loss of life.
Imagine holding the magazine - both possible futures between your two palms
But I don’t think Emma Marris herself titled the cover page “How we saved the world” - a triumphant narrative centering humans as the heroes of the story. No, the shifts she describes happening over the next 50 years - the ones that hold up the image of the watery globe and build off of the rising momentum of today - tell the story of how humans grow in knowing ourselves as one species among many.
Perhaps something more like - “How we were saved BY the world,” by the Earth - is a little more accurate title for this pathway.
A future that describes how we, humans, continue to be changed by - shaped by - more than human life. Not how we saved this web of life of which we are a part - but how it saved us.
There are so many stories I could share about how this is already happening.
Stories of intimate relationship between humans and plants
or humans and animals,
humans and fungi
- stories of us as a species being changed and shaped by these relationships in a way that is slowly restoring balance.
But the story that’s been pushing into my heart and mind this week is about the pig that you saw on the slide when I began to speak - that’s June, you’ll get to see her again a little later in the service.
June and Opal were sisters and they were my partner Andie’s favorite pigs.
These two rare heritage breed guinea hogs with big smiles would nest outside Andie’s window. They liked to cool off in mud, snack on apples, get their bellies rubbed.
Andie was the first person in my life to debunk some myths about pigs. It turns out they are the cleanest animals on the farm if actually given the space they need and cared for well.
Andie became a hog farmer through the slippery slope of YouTube and Netflix.
Documentaries that I know many of you have seen- exposing the abuses in our food system, the consequences of capitalism driving the design of industrial agriculture.
The consequences for animal life, for human life - - systems that breed out genetic diversity and species diversity, systems that do not value quality of life - or quality of death.
Andie easily grew to love June - of course, they were in relationship.
And without Andie, June would not have had a life - - her breed of pig only surviving in small scale farms - - pig farmers raising these animals for eventual harvest actually being the very thing that gives them an opportunity to have a life - for their species to continue - contributing to much needed biodiversity.
And, June’s life did end, just as all life does.
But more on that story a little bit later.
Part II
Second Reading: Perhaps the World Ends Here” by Joy Harjo.
The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.
The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.
We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.
It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.
At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.
Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.
This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.
Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.
We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.
At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.
Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.
What if we stopped thinking about ourselves - humans - as consumers.
We’re so much more than that,
we don’t just take or consume,
we are not somehow separate from nature -
the life all around us or the food that we eat.
Humans as consumers is a fairly recent concept that places us at the end of a chain as opposed to a part of a cycle or web of relational connection.
But we are harvesters - or perhaps we are meant to be.
To live in reciprocal relationship with the world around us, with the life of cultivated plants and animals that allow our lives to be possible - and theirs as well.
Giving and taking, giving and taking.
Caring for life, harvesting, and then taking in that life into our bodies so that we, too, can have life - - and offering it back again.
Relationship. Reciprocity.
However the food got to your table, it was first harvested.
And this life that we rely on for our own, also relies on us.
Broiler chickens would collapse under their own weight if not harvested at 14 weeks, allowing a sheep to die of “natural causes” is more cruel than humane - - and would result in a slow and painful death without the opportunity to nourish ourselves with the gift of their body.
If you are a meat eater, then you are connected to the giving of life and the ending of life of an animal.
And in our dominant food system most of us live disconnected from both parts of this life cycle.
Andie is now the livestock manager and charcuterie director of Black Cat Rarm here in Boulder County.
They oversee the good life and the good death of hundreds of sheep and a dozen pigs that serve two restaurants and hundreds of families through food boxes and a farm stand.
Andie and I dream of our own queer farmstead, a place to raise and love and harvest heritage breed animals to support a local food system.
Where we are changed and shaped by living in relationship to the life that we harvest.
And, at first, I had the same question that perhaps is rolling through your mind: How can you care for and grow to love the animal - like June - that you know you will ultimately harvest?
But just as Andie was shaped by June’s life, Andie was also shaped by her death.
June lived a good life and then on one really intentional day - she died.
She was not moved or trucked somewhere, which causes stress, June died right where she lived.
When you are a part of the death of a creature that you love, there is grief, there is the feeling of loss. How could there not be? The loss is a measurement of the love.
When just consumers, we’re disconnected from an emotional relationship with the food we eat. But not as harvesters.
What if we are meant to love the life that we harvest (or at least be part of a system where someone does) - and what if we’re also meant to grieve the loss of the life.
To feel it all.
Because it’s in this kind of relationship that not a single part of the animal is wasted.
It’s too precious, it’s too known, it’s too loved to waste.
And it is this very stuff of relationship that brings everyone around the table, in celebration of the harvest, in celebration of the abundant gifts given.
Because on harvest day -
the parts of the animal that can’t be refrigerated for later use must be eaten right away - - and it’s literally too much food for one household - but the perfect amount for community.
Bring the extra chairs and place settings and and gather around the table, celebrating the gifts of the harvest, to share of our joys and our sorrows, our adventures and our dreams of a shared future on this beautiful blue boat home - - eating every last sweet bite.
Amen. May it be so.