by Marguerite Kearns
I’m cleaning up in the space also known as my “home” in Santa Fe, New Mexico. I remember my first book on nutrition when we lived in West Hurley, New York —almost straight off the boat from Denver, Colorado, after we moved to the Hudson Valley. The Catskill Mountains were puny compared to the Rockies. I hated the Hudson Valley when we first arrived there, and then I got used to the location and the terrain.
In my New York State kitchen, I heard the first shots at Attica prison on the radio in 1971. I also read Adelle Davis, as she presented facts and fancy about food and the best stuff that could be presented by what this nutritious messenger had to say. I read labels at the supermarket and make my own mayonnaise and buns.
Not one recipe was included in the Adeell Davis book, but she wasn’t shy about saying that nutrition was everything and the rate we were going, we’d throw up from lacks in our diet of this and that…mostly protein.
I remember the film about the 1969 Woodstock music festival was essentially “make love, not war.” And here we are, so many decades later, and little has changed. We eat dead food from the supermarket. People used to family farms are knocking at our doors, asking for residency. Some of the craziest explanations exist for the transition we’re undergoing. People are more open about what they eat than ever before. For me, Adelle Davis was a beginning.
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