For reasons I have yet to uncover, much of my childhood was not retained — at least not by me. I do not remember the games I played, the friends I had. I do not remember my favorite food, my first crush. I remember insignificant moments of notable events, but very few everyday nuances.
I remember exactly what the gas mask looked like as it approached my face when I had my tonsils taken out in, but nothing else about the second grade. I remember the sound my... → Read the rest of this article
I admit, I love Valentine’s Day. I know, I know. It’s a hallmark holiday; it’s a manufactured day to entice buyers back into stores after they’ve already maxed their limits over the holiday season in November and December; one shouldn’t need a day on which to show love to the people they hold dear. I know all the reasons we’re not supposed to support it. I just can’t help it. I still like it. And, I promise, that’s only partly because... → Read the rest of this article
In The Dairy State of Wisconsin legislators are being urged to allow the sale of “raw” (unpasteurized) milk to consumers and their decision is expected to set national precedence. The battle, ultimately, centers on public health. Proponents tout the health benefits of the product. Meanwhile the opposition fears the potential compromise of public health should the measure pass and outbreaks of milk-borne illness become more common. But beyond the politics and debate lies... → Read the rest of this article
I would be remiss not to mention that this week, August second through the eighth, is National Farmer’s Market week. Declared by Secretary of Agriculture, Tom Vilsack, National Farmer’s Market week has been giving growers and local food junkies something — or some time, rather — to celebrate since it was originally recognized by the USDA in 2000.
I personally celebrated by plunking down just over twenty dollars at our local market on ten pounds of blueberries... → Read the rest of this article
For the first quarter century of my life I thought that I hated beets in all their forms. Hated. “They taste like dirt! I’d adamantly regurgitate. I’m sure I’d heard it somewhere, at some point, because I’d never actually tried them myself. And while it’s true, they can taste like dirt, one day in what I like to pretend was no cosmic accident, I picked up a salad from a local market; a salad that contained — unbeknownst to me — pickled... → Read the rest of this article
