As a child I loved going 'to the land' with my father. He had a small trailer attached to his bike that I was allowed to sit in. On the way back I sat in amongst the harvest, which varied according to the season. Carrots, cabbages of all colours, green beans, potatoes. It was a great feeling. What I enjoyed most was digging up potatoes. I looked for new potatoes in amongst the clods of earth, and that evening we would fry them up.
I am reminded of Christien Meindertsma's fascinating book, Pig 05049, in which she shows where the various parts of one pig end up after its death. And I am reminded of the old days when the lines were short and we knew exactly what we were eating. Well, perhaps not exactly. Almost everything was sprayed, preferably with parathion. The bottle was in the shed alongside a lot of other poison. It was purplish brown and it sure smelt bad. And when he had diluted it my father always added a generous dash extra. Just to be on the safe side.