Recently, my kids and I were invited on a whale-watching trip. We showed up at the designated time and boarded a catamaran, ready to see some whales. It was one of those really, really (did I mention the water spout?),
Recently, my kids and I were invited on a whale-watching trip. We showed up at the designated time and boarded a catamaran, ready to see some whales. It was one of those really, really (did I mention the water spout?), really windy days — one of those kind of days when you don’t see … a … single … whale. It started me thinking of a time when I’d seen whales in a very different setting.
Once, for purchasing tires, we were given free passes to Sea World, and we went, ready to see some whales. We arrived at a giant tank of water at the show’s designated time, and sat in seats just outside the marked “splash zone.” Right on schedule, giant killer whales swam into the tank. Wetsuit-clad trainers started their scripted dialogue. Peppy (yes, peppy) music started. It was nothing less than fascinating.
But so is the shelf life of a Twinkie: fascinating and disturbing all at the same time.
I’m not an animal rights activist, advocating the free roaming of all creatures — ask my dog — still, there was something downright odd about seeing nature’s top ocean predators swimming in circles, performing tricks at the sound of a whistle and the flick of a wrist. The trainers rode on the backs of the killer whales while leading the crowd in synchronized clapping, all perfectly on beat with the music. Those inside the “splash zone” got wet, those outside stayed dry. Enormous screens showed close-ups and instant replays. It was all so … slick.
I guess you could say I prefer my whales free range; I’ll take the whale-watching trip any day. No trainers, no peppy music, no avoidable “splash zone,” no script, just a boat out on the ocean trying to catch a glimpse of a mysterious wonder. And somewhere below, the mysterious wonders, just being whales.
For me, that is what eating local is about. It’s eschewing the big, the industrial, for something grown in a natural setting; a setting like the nearest farm or your own backyard. It’s avoiding the bells and whistles of food packaging and opting instead for something bunched together with a rubber band. It’s realizing that your food is being warmed by the same sun and pelted by the same rain that you are being warmed and pelted by. It’s appreciating the wonder of the seasons and flavors of the environment where you live. Eating local is knowing where your food comes from.
In his book “The Omnivore’s Dilemma,” Michael Pollan writes, “If we could see what lies on the far side of the increasingly high walls of our industrial agriculture, we would surely change the way we eat.” For instance? Today you can buy a plastic box of lettuce that has been grown thousands of miles away in dirt leveled by lasers, rinsed in water with extra chlorine added, and passed under metal detectors in an attempt to protect consumers from Band-Aids containing metal filaments that may fall off farm worker’s bodies.
And that’s the organic stuff.
Seemingly, in matters of food, ignorance is not bliss.
It all comes down to choices, really, and where you spend your money is where you cast your vote. There’s no question that the whale show will give you a lot of bang for your buck; guaranteed you’re not going to see a whale parading around with a man perched on his nose out in the Pacific. But what is the true cost of those few minutes of Sea World pizzazz? Knowing the answer to that would probably not be bliss either.
Through artificial insemination, technology ought to ensure a slew of killer whales for years to come — a steady stream of Shamus. As long as we consumers choose to eat in ignorance of our foods’ constitution and origin, technology ought to ensure a steady stream of industrialized slick food as well.
Because I’m a farmer, it may seem rather self-serving of me to write an article encouraging you to eat local — a stroke of pure business genius on my part — unless you step back and look at the bigger picture. That bigger picture, which happens to include ranchers, hunters, fishermen, fellow farmers, gardeners and just about anyone with a pot and some soil, are the folks who make up this island. By encouraging you, I may very well work myself out of a job. That’s a prospect I’m okay with — my choice to farm is a result of my love of eating local fresh food, and not the other way around.
And, as a side note, it just so happens that I get to see plenty of whale shows — the free range kind — while I farm.
• Paige Inman and her husband Jeremy run a farm CSA on the South Shore. Visit www.southshoreganics.com for more information. To learn more about some of the projects happening to support agriculture on Kaua‘i, visit kauaiAgriculturalForum.Org
