I had a hard time picking a specific food instance that affected me more than any other, but as I was deliberating on which to pick I realized that there was a strong theme to my choices. I decided to choose a string of experiences that had seemed to have little impact on me until I shared them with friends.
I grew up in a neighborhood that was filled with huge trucks, quads, hunting dogs, and guns. At the age of eight I competed in regional archery tournaments, at the age of ten, it was entirely common for me to go pheasant and duck hunting on the weekends, or help all the dads of the neighborhood track wounded game. I was always involved with every step. The hunting, tracking, cleaning, packing, butchering, smoking, and cooking; you name it I was involved.
During the fall of 7th grade, a large group of my friends crowed around the lunch table in a scurry to eat lunch and still have time to play basketball. While others unpacked PB&Js, I pulled out a small purple potato from my grandfather’s garden, leftover grilled elk steak, and spicy bear pepperoni sticks; some of my most favorite foods. A few of my friends were interested but others were put off that it wasn’t typical meat. I guess I never gave it any thought that people did it another way. My grandfather had owned a farm, harvested his own fruits and vegetables and slaughtered his own cattle and sheep. At home I was surrounded by hunting and fishing. My neighbors and even my cousins who live all throughout the U.S. fish, farm, and hunt. This was something that I had been immersed in since the day I was born. At the time it didn’t make sense that people who live only a few miles away had never tasted or seen an animal that had freshly been slaughtered, when I knew people across the country that did. This opened my eyes to the fact that location is not the only influence on our lives and culture.
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