Author: rebekah

I have always been of the mind that there’s no such thing as ethical slaughter. Being a vegetarian and on-and-off vegan for the past 6 years, my philosophy concerning animals and the consumption of meat has been refined by massive amounts of research, moral challenges from family members, and a religious conversion. All of these things have led me to be of the mindset that it is unethical to kill and eat animals so long as a person can survive without doing so (this is a key element, there must be exceptions for those who consume animal flesh for survival.) However, meeting with David Klines on Monday has challenged my perspective. Here I met an individual who does not keep animals; he cares for them and tends to their needs. He talked at length about how every animal has a name, every animal’s personality is recognized, and when they pass he mourns for them, even if they end up on his dinner plate. David Klines introduced an aspect of farming that had never occurred in any of my research; love and empathy for the animals he works with.
This revelation has not made any drastic changes in my philosophy yet, but has made me begin to think. If I were to have a meal with David Klines prepared by his wife and made with the things only produced on the farm, I still do not think I myself would eat the meat, but I do think I would be entirely comfortable, accepting, and perhaps even appreciative of everyone else at the table who did. Have I discovered a form of humane slaughter, something I previously thought was an entirely contradictory statement in and of itself? I’m not sure, but it has opened my viewpoint to consider an entire group of people who often go unrecognized in this context because they are so overshadowed by the industrial farms of our modern day; the small, family- oriented, organic farmers such as Klines.
While I have always been an advocate for the revival of small farms and the destruction of industrial ones, with it coming the restructuring of government agricultural subsidies, I had always regarded this topic in the context of specialty crops (fruits and vegetables) and never in the context of animal products. My interaction with Klines on his farm has definitely given me food for thought.

I sit on the porch of an old yellow house in the Catskill Mountains. Beneath me is a sturdy wood porch, and my fingers fiddle with the cracks and knots as I scan the scene before me. To my left, beyond the highway that now cuts in front of the house, are beautiful mountains, illuminated with yellow, orange, red, and brown leaves. This is the prime week for leaf-peepers. As I scan to the right the mountain range continues, warm colors jutting into the cool blue sky, like the painting palette of God. To the right begins what looks like a collection of quaint, country-side Dutch style houses, encircled by a metal fence. It was designed for passers-by to never know that a water sanitation facility lay at the feet of these majestic mountains. Finally the view ends in the seemingly endless highway that trails off into the distance. In all the spot the yellow house is nestled into is a conglomeration of natural beauty and mismatched industrial comforts, melding together into a picture I call home.

Tut-tut, it looks like rain!
When I was little one of my favorite things was Winnie the Pooh, and who could ever forget the rainy days in the Hundred Acre Woods. I am slightly convinced that these cozy childhood memories are the reason I am so infatuated with rainy days now. In fact, I’m not just infatuated with rainy days, but I’m infatuated with the word “rainy.” A rain is not a storm. A storm implies thunder, lightning, wind, or some other majestic violence. But rain is a calmer, more steady drumming of water against the earth. It is peaceful and life-giving. A rainy day is a cherished day, one for staying inside and baking, or perhaps visiting local museums. For some such as myself a rainy day is for a long walk, and admiring how much greener everything looks when it rains.
A rainy sky can be many things; a summer rain while the sun still shines may create a rainbow, or an autumn rain in late October may cause leaves to loosen from their branches, causing a sky that rains not only water, but an array of orange, red, and golden glory. A rainy sky in the spring may be a pale gray, giving everything a hazy overcast. Or perhaps it is raining at night, and everything becomes illuminated in the way light reflects off of the wet surfaces. “Rainy” can be so incredibly beautiful. Rainy is memorable, always bringing me back to some of my most cherished childhood memories.

Tut-tut, it looks like rain!

Along the boardwalk there is a spot of char where a bench used to be. The burned area is very obviously contained, and leads me and others I was with to regard it as arson and vandalism. However, I think the most unfortunate thing about it all was how I wasn’t all that surprised or taken aback. There were carvings in the trees and in some areas trash was left behind to fester and pollute the land. On a more legal side of things, there was a boardwalk beneath our feet. While I can see the importance of the boardwalk for safety reasons, it still cut a circular scar in the forest that is Johnson’s Woods. Man has claimed nature for his own, so it’s no surprise that some may want to burn what others consider to be precious. It makes me wonder what form of self gratification the arsonist acquired from his burning. After all, they wouldn’t be the only one burning parts of the world, unfortunately the fires we are currently in are not contained.

I first came upon the Oak Grove in the winter of my Freshman year. The air was thoroughly chilled and I desperately needed some air and a study break during a weekend grind, so I decided to explore some of the areas of campus I had not yet acquainted myself with. I had gone that way to inspect Kenarden, a building that I thought looked like a castle. After a thorough examination of the living space and getting lost multiple times, I headed down the brick path towards Kauke, stopping along the way to read the stone pillar at the entrance of the Oak Grove.
I was startled at what I found. I’m not sure what I was expecting, probably an engraving of dedication and gratitude to one of the school’s many donors, or a marker of a special tree dedicated by a graduating class. But rather than formalities I discovered a phrase that both at the time and still even now quite frankly creeps me out: “…” As I continued to roam the small area and admire the old growth trees the creepiness only intensified, especially considering that the sun was now falling to a brisk, late-November dusk. But it may be that exact creepiness that has left me so infatuated with the Oak Grove. It is now one of my favorite locations on campus, and I find myself there often, rereading the stones and speaking to the wise, old growth oaks.