Well I’m finally seeing the light again after being swallowed by several projects at once for nearly a month. It isn’t just the blog that’s been neglected because of it; I’ve hardly seen the light of day this entire time. Thankfully last Thursday saw the completion of the most time consuming one but it also appears to have generated more work in the future. So, for now anyway, things are getting back to normal.
Friday was my daughter’s field trip to a pumpkin patch where she could pet and feed farm animals and pick out a pumpkin to take home with her and I went along as a volunteer. Now can you guess where this magical event took place? I’ll give you a hint; where is the LAST PLACE IN THE WORLD where you would want your kid to get attached to an animal?
That’s right, the Owen’s SAUSAGE farm!!!
I cannot fathom the logic behind the school’s thinking here. Are we trying to introduce the children to the concept of LOSS? ‘Make friends with the nice little pigs, Johnny, because they’ll be joining us for breakfast tomorrow.’
I kid you not, there were stall after stall of horses, pigs, and goats and then one stall had a giant, inflated tube of sausage in it! I was dumbfounded. Immediately after the stalls of shame were pens of turkeys and chickens. I couldn’t stop myself from referring to them as ‘unprocessed chicken nuggets’ and ‘raw sandwich parts.’ My daughter, who is use to my smart-ass tendencies, rightly distracted the kids in our group away from my comments.
Then we come upon the goat, sheep, and cattle pens where an extra from the movie ‘Deliverance’ handed out little cups of feed to the kids so the children could help fatten the animals up for their inevitable slaughter. But my daughter’s school was not the only one there that day, so the animals were so bloated and full they just lay there in their own feces looking sad and humiliated while children pelted them with handfuls of grain. It was like the Animal Farm version of Abu Graib.
The next little slice of heaven was the hay ride. Called a ‘hay’ ride, I assume, for the rock hard hay bales that were bolted to the floor of the ancient, suspension-less, flat-bed trailer that was dragged over uneven ground by the equally ancient tractor. The kids were clinging to the railing for dear life as we went airborne from our hay bales at the slightest bump and about halfway through I was calculating how many kids I’d have to throw overboard to rescue my daughter if that damned contraption started to turn over.
Somehow we made it out alive, my daughter with a small, apple-sized pumpkin to show for it, and me with a new respect for vegetarians.
I’ll still eat meat, but I’ll feel guiltier about it.