As I was reminded this morning by my friend Claire LeZebnick’s blog Bookstore People, today is International Buy Indie Day. I’m going to head down to Vroman’s in Pasadena and buy another copy of Barbara Kingsolver’s Animal, Vegetable, Miracle to give as a gift.
As a result of reading the latest from Kingsolver, whom I’ve worshipped ever since I read The Poisonwood Bible, I’ve had one of those gifts that seem rare in adulthood- a transformative change of perspective in response to reading a book. This is the kind of shit I live for, and this is also why I write.
Kingsolver’s passionate and insanely well-researched argument for eating local and sustainably farmed foods inspired this urban gal to plant my very first garden. It is a wee garden, but lovely, I think. And, at some mystical and hard to pinpoint moment during my reading of the book, I started to cook. And I started to not hate it. And I started to eat and not hate myself for it. I started to buy more than the pupusas and cut flowers at the Farmer’s Market. I started to want to nurture my family through food bought and prepared in a conscious way.
I’m not talking all the time, and I’m not talking with a very high level of skill (Scott actually begged to order in Chinese two nights ago rather than eat my cooking again), but there has been an unmistakable change. I aim always to grow more conscious and more green about the way we live. Sometimes it happens by inches and sometimes I get inspired to take a big leap.