Jaime Mathis and The Words

The day before COVID-Thanksgiving, Espen and I decided to take a spontaneous road trip to Winema Beach to visit the legendary "Pirate Cave" we had heard about from friends. I checked the tide tables and discovered that we would arrive on the outgoing tide so we decided to head out. 0.8 of a mile before our turnoff, traffic suddenly came to a complete standstill...and remained so for an hour. Espen was remarkably patient, but eventually he reached his limit and wailed, "THIS IS SO FREAKING BORRRRIIIINNNGGG!"  "Let's give it 10 more minutes and if it's not moving we'll find a different route."  The clock read 2:10pm. Low tide was at 3:44 so I reasoned it might give us our best chance of making it through the narrow beach spit to the beach with the cave. 3 minutes later, cars started moving and within 0.1 of a mile, we passed the wreckage of two SUVs that were completely obliterated. I said a silent prayer of gratitude and we finished the last leg...

I was raised vegetarian as part of my early upbringing in the cult. That is an entire blog post in and of itself but suffice it to say, I was more aware of turkeys as something I could draw by tracing my hand than I was of it as a relative and source of nourishment. True, my aunties would sneak me pieces of turkey under the table at Thanksgiving when we celebrated with my father's family who was decidedly carnivorous and not in the cult. Also true was the delicious feeling of transgression and taste delight that co-mingled in my mind and mouth as I savored the juicy morsels. But it was an unimaginable leap between this low key rebellion and actually connecting with a living, breathing being that gave its life so I could feel a little naughty and then scrape any evidence into the trash. Skip ahead 30 years and I'm deeply interested in knowing where my food comes from, how it is raised and treated, and how it is killed. Food justice is not only about access to healthy food,...