Today, after hard labor with the weed whacker, I fell for two pieces of 'Indian lamb' which Riina packed for me yesterday, and I had some steamed veggies and Winking Owl Sirah (under three bucks at Aldi's) and after that some rosemary ham with hot provolone with butter on Artisan Sourdough bread and then I topped it with a glass of Madeira because I heard no bed-time bells ring, as much as I was hankering for them after this long day which started before five in the morning.
So I topped my evening of gluttony with a glass of fresh, unpasteurized cow's milk, thinking that a push for alkalinity would be good for me at this point. I shook the bottle before tilting it but that made no difference in the character of this product from the Morse's farm. The taste and feel of the usual pasteurized 1% enriched and fortified and whatever milk I normally have for breakfast is enough to - well, you know the hard hitting cliches that are to follow here. I feel hard and painful pangs at the thought that too soon I will have to leave here and return to an area where the power of our political leaders effectively blocks my way to such goodness. Gosh, you can't even buy un-pasteurized fresh apple juice down there in the flat lands!
I went to see the Morses, both the elder and the younger, and I asked them to let me come to their barn for an occasional jug of fresh milk. I emphasized that I wanted to buy it, because, before, when we went to get some milk at the barn, they gave it to us and I never felt good about it. But producing milk is their liveliood and I cannot easily consent to take from them for free what they work for to sustain the lives of their families and their own.
I am glad I did insist. I can drink this milk without apprehensions. This is a throw-back of seventy years for me! I remember well, in Thalwil, just after the end of the war, when my mother sent me out to get milk at the dairy and made sure I understood that I had to ask for pasteurized milk. Up to that day, we had picked up our milk at the barn of a neighbor's farm, sometimes watching it being milked straight from the utter into our pail! This pasteurized milk was something new then and I since realized that it was the hope of the modern world that this would, finally,deliver us from tuberculosis. The mountain sides in Switzerland were littered with sanatoriums, filled with patients in all stages of that affliction and we all lived in apprehension of contracting it, somehow. As children, we were tested for its presence at least once every year, and, as children, we understood only that there was some vile threat hanging over us and the mysterious ado around Madame Curie's apparatus was going to reveal if we 'had it or not'.
But boy, tasting this fresh milk today, unaltered in any way by human hand - what difference is there between it and what the enduring phobia of our leaders permits us to buy in the stores. What wholesome goodness are we missing, by going with 'common knowledge'. I hope milk is eventually going the way of eggs, and pork, and - even! - lard! And uncounted other things the plenty of the Lord's creation is putting in front of us and man, for one reason on or another, declares to be unfit for human consumption.
So I topped my evening of gluttony with a glass of fresh, unpasteurized cow's milk, thinking that a push for alkalinity would be good for me at this point. I shook the bottle before tilting it but that made no difference in the character of this product from the Morse's farm. The taste and feel of the usual pasteurized 1% enriched and fortified and whatever milk I normally have for breakfast is enough to - well, you know the hard hitting cliches that are to follow here. I feel hard and painful pangs at the thought that too soon I will have to leave here and return to an area where the power of our political leaders effectively blocks my way to such goodness. Gosh, you can't even buy un-pasteurized fresh apple juice down there in the flat lands!
I went to see the Morses, both the elder and the younger, and I asked them to let me come to their barn for an occasional jug of fresh milk. I emphasized that I wanted to buy it, because, before, when we went to get some milk at the barn, they gave it to us and I never felt good about it. But producing milk is their liveliood and I cannot easily consent to take from them for free what they work for to sustain the lives of their families and their own.
I am glad I did insist. I can drink this milk without apprehensions. This is a throw-back of seventy years for me! I remember well, in Thalwil, just after the end of the war, when my mother sent me out to get milk at the dairy and made sure I understood that I had to ask for pasteurized milk. Up to that day, we had picked up our milk at the barn of a neighbor's farm, sometimes watching it being milked straight from the utter into our pail! This pasteurized milk was something new then and I since realized that it was the hope of the modern world that this would, finally,deliver us from tuberculosis. The mountain sides in Switzerland were littered with sanatoriums, filled with patients in all stages of that affliction and we all lived in apprehension of contracting it, somehow. As children, we were tested for its presence at least once every year, and, as children, we understood only that there was some vile threat hanging over us and the mysterious ado around Madame Curie's apparatus was going to reveal if we 'had it or not'.
But boy, tasting this fresh milk today, unaltered in any way by human hand - what difference is there between it and what the enduring phobia of our leaders permits us to buy in the stores. What wholesome goodness are we missing, by going with 'common knowledge'. I hope milk is eventually going the way of eggs, and pork, and - even! - lard! And uncounted other things the plenty of the Lord's creation is putting in front of us and man, for one reason on or another, declares to be unfit for human consumption.
