Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth
In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.
Bye-Bye Bananas
To judge from the evidence on the supermarket conveyor belt, the three of us eat three very different diets.
The Carnivore Diet. Mainly meat.
The Junk Food Diet. Mainly snacks.
The Plant Diet. Mainly greenstuffs.
With grim humor, though, I note that each of us has a bunch of bananas in his/her pile.
Bananas: the great leveler.
I won't go into how, historically, bananas became such an American icon. It's an ugly story.
I will say that it has long twisted my nuts that bananas—a monoculture grown somewhere far away and shipped North courtesy of the carbon economy—are cheaper here in Minnesota than apples, grown locally.
I'm sorry, that's just plain wrong.
When you eat bananas—even those organic, free-range, fair trade bananas that you feel so virtuous about buying at Trader Joe's—you're basically eating petroleum.
Yum, yum.
If the current dock workers' strike goes on for very long, banana prices will skyrocket.
Good.
I'm a pagan. Earth is my religion. Here's my opportunity to show it. Let the daily household staple become the rare treat that it really should, by rights, be.
Hail and farewell bananas, exotic strangers.
I like you, but I love Earth more.
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