I leave for Mongolia on Saturday. So I wrote a poem today:
My sweet leafy greens
My dearest nectarines
You are loved
You will be missed
By thine taste bud
I have kissed
You good-bye.
To all the fruits and vegetables out there, this blog entry pays tribute to you, the herbaceous wonders of the world. Arugula, you were dear to me. Kale, too kind. Cabbage, so sweet. I will miss you. Mongolia is not necessarily known for its elaborate cuisine, partly because in America it’s been degraded to “Authentic Mongolian B-B-Q” and partly because it has none (so far as I know). While my vegetarian and part-time vegan habits were inspired and maintained by the atrocities of the American meat industry (e.g. Food, Inc.) I’ve grown accustomed to the lifestyle and have since maintained it partially out of preference. It’s become clear to me that with the exception of artichokes my dietary inclination is to all things autotrophic. But to each his own and to Mongolia it is mutton.
In Mongolia, meat and dairy aren’t just the staples of the diet, they’re the staples, the paper, the ink and the essay. In Ulaanbaatar and a few other urban areas some fruits and vegetables will be available, but for the most part I will soon accustom myself to the diet that strengthened the Mongol army centuries ago. Since I’ve gone meatless for some time, this summer I tried to reintroduce meat to my digestive system and so far the interactions have been civil. I started buying lamb and mutton from the Ithaca Farmer’s Market and since arriving in Dallas have been consuming meat at least once a day. As for dairy, I was graciously gifted with a gigantic cheese platter after the E.L. Rose Conservancy’s photo contest ceremony and spent my last week in Ithaca nibbling on the lactose medley. It’s no comparison to my upcoming diet, but it’s a start and I think my digestive system is ready.
One of the books we were assigned prior to our program’s start is Clifford Geertz’s “Interpretations of Cultures.” In the second chapter, he explains the “stratigraphic” conception of human life. He says, “man is a composite of ‘levels,’ each superimposed upon those beneath it and underpinning those above it.” There are certain ‘universal’ biological traits each Homo sapien has which in turn govern certain psychological functions which in turn influence certain social behaviors which in turn manifest themselves in the anthropologist’s Holy Grail of conceptions: the said Homo sapien’s culture. So in the deepest corners of our biological construction there is a single layer, a biological layer to which we almost all share. As you emerge from those cellular crevices and arrive at the brain, there lay another layer that is less common, a psychological layer. Above that, a social layer. And above that, a cultural layer. New experiences or living environments add more layers to each person’s unique collection. The further a layer is from the biological core, the more contextual variability there is within it. So while these layers can overlap among many they also provide the means for infinite diversity.
Though I almost immediately reverted back to the genius that is Shrek (thank you, Pixar, for my juvenile mind), this analogy made me think about my own layers. I started to think about my childhood and the psychological layers that were developing as a result of my biological layers. The way my brain learned to perceive a lump of brass as a candlestick and not a pair of faces or how it learned to differentiate shapes, colors, sounds, smells and then proceeded to label them. And the development of those layers were undoubtedly influenced by the social and cultural environments that I was brought up in. As a result of all that, the day-to-day phenomena that I experience have been assigned specific meanings and they will retain those meanings in perpetuity. I also thought about those angsty, emotional, frustrating adolescent years and how that was probably an acquisitional transition period where I went from having a meager collection of widely-shared inner layers to having my own diverse collection. The pair of rainbow knee-socks that I sported for two years in middle school wasn’t just the fashion faux paus of my Lincoln Spartan days, it was the manifestation of my stratigraphic self taking shape; my struggle to superimpose each layer into the one, cohesive ball of layers that everyone else calls Lindsay. Kind of like a cabbage (or an onion, but they have a certain...odor about them.).
I’ve come to realize that each new adventure, each new social or cultural experience that I have is my acquisition of a new layer or a new leaf. The more layers I have, the more well-rounded I become and I like being round, I always have. Rather than being the deformed cabbage that grew phototropically in one direction and turned out flat on one side, I’m hopefully maturing into the lush and robust Brassica that I’m proud to be. Moreover, each new experience that I have, each new layer that I develop can bring me closer to all the other Brassicas or all the other Captitatas or even all the other Brassicaceaes in the world. The more layers that I have, the more I share with others, the more I can relate with others and the more I can learn with others no matter how different we may be. Since I have those layers I have the means to mindfully share my knowledge, my philosophies and my culture. And because I've encouraged my adventurous side (for better or worse) I am no longer a mere biennial cluster subject to various tropisms rather I am an infinite learner. Forever growing round.
I live in the moment and by my senses. I love to see new places. I love to meet new people. I love to smell new things. I love to hear new music. And I really do love to try new foods (vegetable or otherwise). I think I love to do all these things because I love acquiring new layers. I am so excited to see what layers I gain this semester.
Who knows, I might come back to the States with an insatiable appetite for mutton. But all I know is that at the end of the day I can always go for some good, well-rounded cabbage.
Moreover, Cabbage, I’ll miss you.
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