As God is my witness…

(Eating in the pandemic time)

My mother was 11 when Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind was published. It was 1936 and the Great Depression had thrown the world into poverty. Mom remembered that her mother Kitty and sister Mary were crazy about the book and got caught up in the frenzy over who would play Scarlett O’Hara in the movie.

Kitty was newly remarried after ten years of widowhood and sole proprietership of a grocery business. Mary was newly divorced, having walked out on the love of her life for a drunken act of cruelty. They were two tough cookies.

GWTW‘s heroine Scarlett O’Hara suffers her own transformation. Her most famous line (in the movie at least) is: “As God is my witness, I will never go hungry again!”

“As God is my witness…” An oath. A proclamation. The world is a mess. Life is cruel. But I’ll be damned if I let it destroy me.

2020. Worldwide pandemic. We face months of uncertainty on a continuum of isolation to death. How many of us are having an “as God is my witness” moment?

I’m 71 and healthy. My husband is nearly 88 and doing well with 5% of his liver functioning. I link our health to good nutrition — decades of near vegetarianism and five years plant-strong. Our hermitage is in rural upstate New York. My anxiety is focused on getting enough fresh produce.

When I hear that voice in my head — as God is my witness — I am swearing that we will not backslide. In my food as medicine mentality, lapsing into pizza deliveries means vulnerability, opening the door to sickness.

The local grocery stores are constantly packed and their delivery/pickup services are broken or breaking. I looked into some of the “clean living” meal delivery services but they seem so expensive. So I signed up for Misfits Market and for a local CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) for summer produce pickup. I also wangled my way into deliveries from a local farm-to-table cooperative.

Who know what will happen to the supply chain of food over the next few weeks, but as God is my witness


Photo at top: my grandmother Catherine “Kitty Mom” Curran, in 1938, out at Castlewood.

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