At this time of the year, apple growers around here are out of fruit.
Conventionally-grown apples are at the top of every list of foods you should not eat, so today at the grocery store I bought four organic apples. They were not cheap, and they probably came from out West somewhere, but at least I thought I was doing the right thing–safeguarding our health and supporting organic growers, wherever they might be.
Back in my kitchen, imagine my surprise when, about to take a bite of my apple, I noticed the little sticker on it. It said: Argentina. My apple had traveled ten thousand miles from Argentina to Vermont.
From the orchard it had gone by truck to the farm house, then by another truck to the packing plant, and finally another truck to the airport, where it had been put on a plane. It had flown over the dwindling Amazon jungle, over the Caribbean where the coral is dying, and then over endless American suburbs to finally land in Albany, NY. From there more trucks had taken it through the farm country of Washington County to our supermarket near the border with Vermont. Its last trip was in our gray Subaru.
I ate the apple anyway. It was delicious, sweet and crisp, as good as the ones I grow myself. But was it really worth all those trucks, and that ten-thousand mile flight?
Here I was, trying to do the right thing and ended up committing a crime against Nature. I hope She understands that my intentions were pure.