How did it happen that, "I'll get it to you by Friday," turned into Saturday at 11, turned into Saturday night, turned into Sunday morning, turned into 12:30 a.m. on Sunday night/Monday morning?
Let's just say it happened. And that I work better under pressure.
Today, the editor sent the story back to me - he had managed to cut out 500 words and needed me to get it down another 600. Blah. I managed to make it work. I think I managed to cover the big issues surrounding the food we eat in a way that is very much about local farmers and farming practices. I was even able to touch upon the migrant workers without judgment or accusations, but in a manner that simply raises questions, and more importantly awareness.
I could not be more pleased with my article.
And, no, that chicken was not the chicken I ate. The brown chickens are egg layers, and the white ones (at the farm I visited) are used for poultry. But I'll say that I ate my chicken joyfully. My intricate knowledge of how it had been raised, what it had been fed, and the fact that a couple who lost everything in Hurricane Katrina are the people whose livelihoods I was helping support - as they were helping nourish me - made me feel deeply connected to an amazing symbiotic cycle. And it was the best tasting chicken I've ever had.
Joy, joy, joy. Now I'm going for a swim.
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