I'd make an excellent grizzly bear. Do I know how to source and cache food!!
When I'm putting my lunch plate in the dishwasher, I'm thinking about what's for supper. The dogs and horses always have an extra month of food in reserve, just in case... (months more during a pandemic!) Food security is new buzz word, but it's been around since the Neanderthals.
It's why my stocked freezer is my big security blanket.
My grandmother lived through the Great Depression. She saved every twist tie and piece of twine. She'd darn my socks until there was more patch than sock. And you didn't throw food away; best before dates, to her, were mere suggestions. I remember eating a bowl of cereal to find that the supposed raisin bits were swimming in my milk. She stood in the doorway to the kitchen hanging on the jamb because she laughed so hard. I'm glad I inherited her sense of humor.
So, I empathize that no matter how many years have passed since a time of meagerness, you remain in danger mode. From the time I was 17 to about 25, the struggle was to pay for college or eat. When I still lived in Canada, I would roll change to put gas in my truck, drive half an hour to my aunt and uncle's house and absolutely gorge myself like a hyena before returning to school. In the Summer, my boss gave me a plot of land to grow a garden, which helped. I had a job working at a convenience store. The man who delivered the dairy products would put all the milk and cheese that was past its date in my truck on the sly. The rest of the time, I was an efficient dumpster diver. I took my freeganism skills to Alabama and honed them for the next 5 years. If a deer roadkill was fresh, it was bonanza at the house for me and the dogs.
Now, freeganism has become this chic counter culture movement celebrating minimalist consumerism.
That's quaint. But, that's not what it was 30 years ago. Nothing slices into your sense of self worth than being ordered out of a dumpster and chased away by a grocery store stock boy.
So, just like a deer who remembers, from year to year, every single oak tree that produces the most acorns, I have a mental map to all my food sources.
When I lived in Massachusetts, a clerk at an Italian market would slip me extra food. I order my pasta from there now. I plan to perpetually repay the kindness.
Lately, a friend has been bringing fresh citrus back form her place in Florida. Each morning, I take out a little orange and its like a party.
So, now that I don't have to worry about whether or not the milk in my fridge is pre-curdled, I worry about how it's grown and who gets my consumer dollars. That's why, when I can, I order everything direct from the grower. My wild rice comes from a farm I visited while up in Minnesota. My milk from a local woman in Prattville.
My dates from a place Cole and ran in Death Valley, CA. China Ranch Date Farm.
My pistachios from a crazy guy in Alamogordo, NM. McGinn's Pistachioland.
All these small-fry producers are up against big conglomerates. I can only imagine that their bank accounts sometimes look like the pantry back from 30 years ago. Most ship UPS, just sayin"....
