Not Your Father's Old MacDonald

I doubt you'll ever find goats screaming like victims of torture over at Old MacDonald's place. But that's what my husband's teaching my daughter. He's obsessed with this video on Youtube, which, I must admit, is very funny. You should check it out. 

I'm not so sure that my daughter should be watching it, though. We're already so removed from nature as it is. We have to drive an hour plus from NYC to get to Stone Barns, which is a really cool working farm in Westchester County. The place is great, but, in truth, we go about once or twice a year for a couple hours.

Claire, George and chickens at Stone Barns

Instead, Claire has Youtube, which is right at our fingertips. Much to my dismay, she gets to learn about animals secondhand through a virtual source. She gets to see that the magic of computer technology transforms animals into burping, screaming and/or crying humans. Funny, yes. Educational, no.

In a few years, I think she might be old enough to join in on the fun. Until then, I think it's a good idea that she learn the real sounds that animals make first.

George would probably tell me to lighten up a bit. After all, it's only a video. In response, I would say that I'd be happy to make a deal with him. He gets the screaming goats video, if I get more family trips to Stone Barns when the weather gets warmer...


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The Farm System

Claire's been reading propaganda lately. Or, more accurately, we've been reading it to her: Animals living happily on the farm, lovingly tucking their babies into bed, greeting each other with moo’s and baa’s, rolling in the mud or frolicking in the meadow. This pastoral vision has past. Corporate farming has squashed it.

But I’m conflicted. Do I really want to Claire to know the real picture? Like most people, I cringe  thinking about the realities of farming myself. Plus, there's plenty of time for Claire to learn about the cold, harsh world. The book with the truth would be sure to rip the rose colored glasses off at such a tender age: Page one, “Oh look, Claire, the hens are fighting, because they live on top of each other." Page two, “Here their beaks are being sliced off, so they don’t kill each other.” Page three would show dark boxes enclosing baby calves their entire short life; “We call them ‘veal’, Claire, so we don’t have to think about eating babies." The book would be long.

I don’t want to be holier than thou, either. I have my own set of blinders on. I’m blissfully oblivious to which of my clothes were made by little hands in third world sweatshops. Obviously, my sensitivity to this particular issue is influenced by my own vegetarianism. I don’t want to force my belief system on my daughter. She should be able to make her own decisions. I do plan on educating her about why sugar is for special occasions and why she should eat her vegetables. But these issues just seem a lot more straightforward. The truth about the dark side of corporate farming is a lot harder to swallow. That doesn’t make it any less true.

Photo Source: Dave, Rip the Skull, Flickr