There was a little girl… who knew where food came from.
She grew up with grass under her feet, mud between her toes, and soft stepping through patches of stickers. The buzz of insects and distant bellows of mama cows were a steady soundtrack of her childhood. Hours spent jumping round bales or climbing square bales; games of hide-and-go-seek that lasted for hours, there was no shortage of places to conceal oneself. There was a little girl with a penchant for the grooviest eyewear, even if she had to borrow it from Mr. Potato Head. There was a little girl without a care in the world.
There was a little girl who sought reprieve from the blazing heat with her cousins by sneaking into their great-grandmother's utility room and pulling Schwan's push-ems or fudge bars from the deep freeze. The kids would then force the enormous sliding doors on the empty bay of her Papaw's transmission shop open enough to slide through sideways. In the cool, dark shop, they would take turns rolling around on the creeper or swinging from the chain hoist that hung from the ceiling in the center of the room.
There was a little girl who gathered with her extended family on summer evenings to catfish on the pond back behind the houses. She would watch her surroundings, avoiding cow patties and disgruntled bulls as she made her way to the fishing spot. Upon arriving, she would have again to avoid the errant hook and line of her Mimi's cane pole, her cast wild and wide. She spent weekends packed tightly on a houseboat on Toledo Bend, learning to love brim and perch fishing as much as her Mamaw did. The little girl spent evenings chasing fireflies as the hum of an electric knife buzzed in the background. Her uncles and grandfathers gathered around ice chests full of the day's catch, filleting fish that would be frozen in bags full of water, meals for another day.
There was a little girl who planted seeds in her grandparent's garden, row after row of peas and beans and peppers. And once the crops matured, their foliage spent, they'd gather on her Mimi's carport. She would shell Tupperware bowls full of black-eyed peas as her Mom, aunts, and grandmothers ran peas or corn cobs through the loud sheller, still laughing and talking as usual, voices raised over the racket. She helped stack Ziploc bags full of creamed corn in the deep freeze, the cold wafting up to chill her little sun-tanned arms. The produce would be served with baked ham or fried chicken dinners, stewed lima beans, baked cream corn, hand-shaped rolls, homemade mashed potatoes, and more.
There was a little girl who would walk the aisles of her grandfather's polycarbonate-covered hot house, running her hands down the corrugated material. Inside, the green walls muted the sunlight while intensifying the heat, and the smell of earth radiated through the air. Shovels full of red worms and night crawlers would be scooped from the depths of the raised beds into a wheelbarrow and pushed to the screened-in porch. The little girl and her cousins would sit and pack worms to be sold to local bait stands. It made for silent work as they counted 50 worms per container, covering it with peat moss to keep the soil damp, then topping it with a lid and starting again. The castings from their beds could be used to fertilize their small crops.
There was a little girl who saw life and death played out across a family farm daily. The Beefmaster bulls kept for their strong genetic traits were matched with heifers from cows with clear birthing histories. She sat on catch pen rails and watched her grandfather and the vet artificially inseminate, or pull an occasional difficult calf. She was there when a thunderstorm felled a tree, and it crashed on a new Mama, who had given birth in the middle of the storm, her calf brand new, under a stand of trees, defenseless and hungry. She ran with towels to dry him as her grandparents warmed him by the fireplace and delighted in getting to help hold his bottle. She was never without an animal nearby. She moved barn cats to safer places when they'd had their litters in the hay that would soon be pulled to feed the herd. She helped a mama cat deliver a still kitten when she'd been laboring for hours without progress. She checked on the babies daily, socializing and cuddling them as they began to open their eyes and become playful.
There was a little girl who knew that food could and should be grown and raised. And that in its planting, harvesting, storing, and preparation, people would gather around, communities being established. She learned that land should be honored and respected as it provided nutrients and recreation, allowing those on it to sustain themselves in many ways. If you took care of it, it would take care of you. There was a little girl that saw that the work that went into preparing delicious meals full of fresh produce and meat translated to love and service.
There was a little girl who soon learned that things could change quickly. Some grew up, and some moved on. Illness, retirement, deaths, divorces, financial woes, herds, and tractors sold. She watched as empty trailers arrived at her family's land. Sometime later, the trailers, now full, would pull away from their hill, taking pieces of their way of life (and her sense of security) with them. Eventually, the houses and land were sold too.
There was a little girl who wouldn't learn the term "food insecurity" for many years. But she soon understood that food, especially healthy food, was no longer guaranteed. The little girl learned about food stamps as she watched her worried Mom try and stretch them to last the month. Nutritious meals and snacks that were always readily available faded into things the little girl could prepare for her and her younger brother while their Mom was away: bare bread and ham sandwiches, noodles with meatless, jarred sauce, 4 for ¢99 ramen bought in bulk, and boxes of macaroni and cheese prepared with just water and the packet of processed "cheese" powder.
There was a little girl that would stare into a bare refrigerator, wondering what she could give her brother to eat until her Mom came home or got paid.
There was a little girl who often had hodgepodge dinners pieced together with gas station food because her Mom worked there, and they could get some things for free or on credit.
There was a little girl who would cry in frustration and panic over the lack of food in her home.
I am that little girl, and I believe that food should never equate to fear. Our childhoods shape us. I became empathetic to the plight of the small farmer. I want to help bridge the gap between their products and the market. I am passionate about growing or raising food and teaching others to do the same. I understand the importance of being a good steward of land and community. And we must work to ensure healthy options are available to children.