A Place to Ski, and the Bare Truth About Burgers

I found a ski spot in Connecticut that offers an affordable season pass. Winding Trails in Farmington has 12 miles of trails and a few humble amenities that will make investing in a season pass worthwhile. I decided for sure yesterday, after speaking with my Colorado friend, that I wouldn’t spend this winter skiing preserve areas, as nice as they can be.

I’m psyched about getting closer to the deep end of the pool as far as my favorite winter outdoor fun is concerned. I need a challenge and something to look forward to as the temperatures drop. We don’t get those gorgeous Colorado bluebird days here, and I'm sure there’s no chalet at the end of the run in Farmington, but I think this is good enough.

So, our papaya tree is not happy. Leaves have been curling and browning for weeks, and I’ve been trimming them off as they perish. I just don’t know how Moon Dog Café in Vermont keeps its tree so healthy (I’ll be sure to ask next time I’m there), but my own tender loving care is not working. I predict this beautiful tree will die before spring. It really looks that way. Tragic. I’ll start with a new papaya tree in May. On a brighter note, our young quenepas trees are doing great.

I’ve been busy for the past couple of days searching for things to do this winter. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to the Yale Museum of Art or the Peabody, both in New Haven, and I’ve never been to the Mark Twain Museum in Hartford. I’d love to hit the Yale museum and then grab lunch at Claire’s, one of my favorite vegetarian eateries. I used to haunt that place. There’s also a few great Asian grocers in New Haven. I hear people in this part of Connecticut saying they don’t like New Haven. I can’t imagine why: it’s a hip little city with a lot of great things to do, and there’s great theater there, especially the Yale Rep.

At this moment, there’s a pregnant woman sitting near me. She’s eating a McDonald's burger and fries for lunch. I don’t know if I want to scream or weep, or both.

There’s no way of knowing how much of the flesh of how many slaughtered animals makes its way into one burger. McDonald’s admits that there’s no way to quantify it: could be 20, or 100, or 1,000. You thought one burger was sourced from just one cow? Sorry. A single burger from anywhere is a cauldron of meat sourced from many tortured beings.

Imagine how much residual suffering is contained in the elements of that burger she’s eating. The terror and panic and adrenaline of all those animals who spent their lives in anguish, then slaughtered while in the throes of agony. The woman eating this burger takes this suffering into her body and makes it her own flesh, and it’s given to her baby and he makes it his own. Suffering should not be a meal.

No, I’m not going to say anything to her. The world needs fewer pompous asses, including vegan pompous asses. I belong to the tribe of vegans who spread the message of compassion more subtly, and more persistently. 

Lead by example, and do a lot of writing. People always ask questions when they find out you’re vegan. That’s the time to start talking. Do your homework: have your facts straight, and have resources ready to offer. You needn’t be eloquent, or cleverer than anyone. It’s not a competition. Have a pure heart, that’s all. Always speak from that.

Barbie xo