Why I’m Not Vegetarian (or Vegan)

It’s certainly not for lack of caring about animals. But before I get into details ~
I have noticed, over the years, that conversations about food and diet often veer into a similar realm as those about politics or religion. I don’t want that to happen here or in the comment section. I’m often asked how I can care so deeply for the cows and calves we raise and still eat meat ~ in answering that here, I am simply sharing my choices and what works for me; I’m not trying to “convert” anybody. I think every body has different needs and there is no “one size fits all” when it comes to diet.

Onward! I was really naive about food until I turned 26. I didn’t particularly care about food ~ it was not a priority in my life and I just ate whatever. I thought food was food, that all food was pretty much fine, because why would they have commercials on TV for Big Macs if they were bad for you? Naive.

Then I became devastatingly ill, to the point where I had to sit on the bathroom floor to brush my teeth because I didn’t have the energy to stand at the sink, and was battling an unyielding depression. It took me six months to discover the root was gluten intolerance and when I cut gluten out of my diet, all the horrible symptoms and effects disappeared. That period of illness was the worst six months of my life and it was the best thing that happened to me. Because everything changed. I realized that what I put into my body affected how I feel and how I function. I started paying attention to my body and I started paying attention to food.

I went vegan for a bit, but soon realized my body functions best with animal protein. It’s just the way it is with me. Some people thrive on a vegan diet and I didn’t. And so I began incorporating raw organic milk and cheese and grass-finished pasture-raised beef back into my diet, all of which I could buy in stores as I was living in San Francisco at the time.

These choices regarding animal products, however, were not rooted in altruism; they were totally self-centered. Since I had discovered that food = health and health = power, I wanted the animal protein I was eating to be as pure and natural as possible ~ when you eat meat, eggs, or dairy, you consume what the animal consumed, and factory-raised products are filled with antibiotics, hormones, and unhealthy fats because of the conditions in which the animals are raised.

Yet in my research surrounding this, I began learning about the absolute horrors of commercial farming and that is when I became passionate about the animals. I vowed that if I was going to eat an animal, I would make sure that animal never spent time in a feedlot or factory farm; that the animal’s life was as happy and peaceful as possible before that life was surrendered for mine.

I don’t ignore the fact that an animal dies so that I may eat meat. I don’t take it lightly. But to reconcile that fact, I have to know the animal had the happiest, most stress-free life possible and the quickest, most stress-free death possible. I eat elk that Mike hunts, because he hunts with a rifle and is so skilled that the animals he takes are dead before they fall. I also eat the beef that we raise, because I know the animal’s life was good, that it was loved and free, and I am with it till the end. There’s no feedlot, no slaughterhouse, just a trip down the dirt road to a small USDA-certified processor run by a woman who is smart and kind.

Because I am so adamantly against the industries of terror and abuse that are conventional farming, I haven’t eaten chicken in ten years, and I only eat eggs from Mike’s chickens (when they stop laying I go without) and dairy from Daisy (when she dries off for two months before each calf I go without). I feel really lucky to be so “close to the source” via my life in Wyoming. But it’s an ongoing process ~ just the other day I realized my favorite gluten-free bread which I buy upon occasion is made with eggs, and these are very likely factory-farmed eggs. So I switched to a different brand of bread that is vegan and gluten free.

Going back to the original question, how can I invest so much care in a orphan calf, or keep a hypothermic calf in my house, when I know it’s going to die anyway? Because I love each calf. Because I have so much respect for these animals and am so grateful for them. I will live in service to them because I know they will die in service to me. And in the meantime, I want their lives to be filled with respect and freedom and peace.

This is kind of a stream of consciousness blog post and I’m sure there are points I glossed over or points I may have missed, so please leave any questions you may have in the comment section and I will answer them. I can anticipate one question: How can I feel so strongly against feedlots and yet help raise calves that are sent off to that torture? I don’t. We don’t. But that is another long story which I will save for another day.

News From The Homefront

Hi All ~ Many readers have forwarded me this recent article regarding Wildlife Services. Thank you! It’s a great article. Those of you who’ve read The Daily Coyote know that Mike has worked for Wildlife Services, however, two months ago, Mike made the decision to end his career with Wildlife Services. While he still believes in protecting livestock, he could no longer support Wildlife Service’s current methods and practices which result in nothing more than the mass genocide of coyotes.

Random Status Report

The trickery worked. We jacketed the calf, which (skip to the next paragraph if you’re squeamish) means skinning the dead calf and putting that hide onto the orphan calf ~ four holes are cut in the corners of the hide for the orphan’s legs to pass through; this keeps the hide anchored across her back.

Mama cows know their calf through sight and sound but confirm it through scent, and jacketing confuses the mother enough to let the new calf nurse. Once the orphan calf has its new mother’s milk coursing through its body for a day or two, the calf begins to smell like her, becomes hers, and the jacket can come off. This mama is wholly devoted to her new baby.

Oreo, NICU baby, is the princess of the herd. One would never know, looking at her now, how tenuous her first days were. She’s strong and playful and curious, chasing chickens, ringleader of the calves.

I made this, following the cold recipe she links to near the bottom of her post and it is AMAZING, like distractingly good, like I was walking into walls because the only thing my consciousness could register was the deliciousness of shrub in my mouth.

Snippets: The Agony & The Ecstasy

I’ve been writing.
Manic stretches where my pen can barely keep up with my brain alternating with staring at a blank page for hours and doodling in the margins.

A calf was born strange, there was something structurally off about her, her legs were weird and she couldn’t hold her chin up to nurse. So I’ve been milking her mother (NOT FUN. CHEATING ON DAISY!) and bottle feeding her, and trying to teach her how to nurse on her mom. She was such a sweet little thing. She died today. I think it was inevitable but I still can see her face so perfectly in my mind.

Another cow had twins last week and, as is customary, only took to one calf and abandoned the other. That motherless calf is also on the bottle (Daisy’s milk) but we are hoping to introduce her to the mother that is now calf-less. It takes a bit of trickery but results in happy pairs.

Fingers crossed.
Off to go feed cows.
And the Farmily (all are well).
And then write more (or doodle).

Good Things

organic strawberries + cream from a cow who loves me

I blended it up and had it for dinner in my outdoor tub last night.

It’s the little things.

And also the big things! My first (only) angus heifer had her first baby yesterday! Remember this story? The calf that 16 barreled down the mountain for, through fences and over cattle guards to return to, was a girl and Mike gave her to me for Christmas that year. She grew up to be the most gorgeous heifer ever ~ she is the femme fatale of angus cows. Short hair, round little body, very distinct face… Her name is Star.

Star inherited her mother’s disregard for cattle guards, but while 16 only crossed them out of maternal duty, Star walks the cattle guard daily to go to a neighbor’s abandoned field to graze. We knew she was getting close to calving, so Mike and I locked her in the corral two days ago so she wouldn’t have her calf on the county road ~ sometimes heifers don’t know what to do with their first calf and walk off and leave them, and sometimes they have trouble with the birth ~ it’s always good to keep a close eye on them in case they need help.

Not so with Star, on either count. She calved at three in the afternoon and was instantly, obsessively, in love with her baby (also a girl!). Also the noisiest mother I have ever seen, honking (there’s no other way to describe the noise she was making ~ a flashback to her uncle Ricardo?) at her calf between licks. The calf was up and sucking right away and then bounced around on wobbly legs, exploring the corral as Star honked along behind her, trying to call her back to get in a few more licks.