The first time I moved to Provence, I was an unsuspecting and somewhat reticent twelve-year old. I was very attached to my friends back in Italy, and to a favorite aunt whom I knew I would miss enormously. Such is life though, and as kids we are supposed to follow our parents, so with the promise of a pony and a scooter, off I went to Provence. Who knew that this move would mark the beginning of a journey toward veganism?
After living all twelve years of my life on the top of an alpine mountain (think Sound of Music) in a four-story wooden chalet, the dilapidated stone farm my parents fell in love with (and had to have) in Provence didn’t look like much. Lots of land, to be sure, and several out-buildings and hay barns, but where would we live?
Turns out my bedroom would eventually occupy a rundown storeroom adjacent to the farmhouse, but in those early days, that storeroom was home to Herman, the giant pig. Herman wasn’t our pig. He was just staying with us while the farm’s transfer between the previous owner, a 5-foot elderly farmer, and my family, was finalized. My three brothers and I really enjoyed hanging out near Herman’s sty, especially at mealtimes when he would thrown himself at the trough, sending sticky cereal-ball projectiles all over the place.
As kids, it hadn’t occurred to us that the pig wasn’t a fun and entertaining animal, but rather a commodity, to his owner the 5-foot farmer. One fatal day not long after I’d arrived at the farm, Herman’s owner decided it was time to cash in on his investment. Without much fanfare, he took Herman to the barn, tied him up by his hind legs to one of the roof rafters, and swiftly cut his throat. Herman didn’t die right away. In fact I distinctly remember his helpless squeals from my bed that night.
When I woke up the next day, something in my twelve-year old heart had changed. A connection was forming that would forever change the way I feel about animals, not just house pets, but all animals. I had witnessed first-hand that up until that day, Herman had been happily alive. His living conditions were excellent when compared to those of pigs in large industrial farms, but besides that, even a twelve-year old (perhaps only a twelve-year old) could see that he loved his simple, albeit confined, life.
On that eye-opening autumn day, I became conscious for the first time that animals aren’t put on the earth to live and die randomly -- they have a definite will to live and a love for life and living, just like humans. So logically, if we as humans have a right to life, I concluded that animals do to. At that young age, I knew nothing about the animal rights movement, but that day I felt something move inside me. Something shifted. I didn’t have words for any of it at first, but after that day I never eat another piece of meat.
A few years later, off I went to Florida to attend university and perfect my English. The ultra-progressive campus at New College in Sarasota was very vegetarian-friendly, but the man I fell in love with there and married four years later was as enthusiastic a meat-eater as they come. You’d think life with him would’ve been difficult, at least from the practical point of view of buying groceries and preparing meals, but I don’t remember ever feeling frustrated. Luckily, my husband had been a chef for several years so we both enjoyed spending time in the kitchen. He’d get some of the meal ready while I worked on the rest. I was only vegetarian then, not yet vegan, so he would sit down with his meat dish, I with my beans and we’d happily meet in the middle, where grains and vegetables sat.
Several years went by with this arrangement, until we attended a nutrition workshop as part of a business training seminar we’d been asked to attend. The workshop explained (and I won’t go into detail it here), that animal products sap your energy and are not meant to be consumed by humans. Even in hindsight, I couldn’t tell you why this information resonated with us, but it did, and on the way back from Orlando the next day, a commitment was made to change our ways. After all, when we got to the seminar, they told us we could walk on hot coals and we didn’t think we could. But we did. So when they said we could (and should) be vegan, we didn’t think we could (or should). But we did. ‘nuff said. (to be continued)
