And the author's darned right about the cultural history of her family's meat, and the importance of eating whole foods.

The idea that meat is inherently weight-/fat-causing and unhealthy is so 1970s (or something). Whether meat (and which meat) is good for you is probably linked to some extent to blood type. Probably the daughters are bloodtype A; either way, given their preferences, let these delicate wilting flowers bring some delicious regional side-dishes for everyone, many of which by custom contain no meat: cucumber salad, corn on the cob, watermelon, or whatever belongs to the family's regional histories. But 3 daring daughters, please do not try to convert everyone to vegetarian. I got pulled into that once and I'm still trying to regain my health (Bloodtype O).

Moreover, if this essay is any indication, Susan Straight is, in my opinion, 10 times the writer Garrison Keillor is. Let's have her back every week for a new essay-- I'd relish that (no pun intended).

yes, an excellent essay. Let's have Susan Straight AND Garrison Keillor.

They talk about stealing pomegranates from someone else's tree and killing someone else's pig, but they begrudge one guy a plate of meat because they're so wrapped up in turning their their hard luck stories into a form of heroism. My family was poor too, but when things got better, we'd invite a neighbor to sit down and share a plate of whatever we had, especially if it was only one day a year.

Jesus....

Such a sweet story - makes me want to read A Million Nightingales.

Thanks for sharing this peek at your family.

That's good - for once a personal essay that's not a self indulgent piece of tripe.

Susan Straight gets it - write with honesty about people and experiences that were earned, not drifted through.

And to think I nearly skipped it thinking it was just another self indulgent whiny me-to column.

And while some people praised this essay as finally being something they could relate to---something that wasn't "whiny and self indulgent"---I just found it boring and ended up skimming the last 3rd of it. But that's ok. We're a diverse audience with a wide range of family backgrounds.

http://www.all-creatures.org/health/eatright.html

"But according to the Tufts University Health and Nutrition Letter, D’Adamo has his blood typing all wrong. “It’s a fallacy even to speak of ‘original’ type Os or ‘original’ type As because blood types did not originate with humans,” explains Dr Stephan Bailey, a nutritional anthropologist at Tufts University. “They came on the biologic scene long before humans did. Furthermore, there is no anthropologic evidence whatsoever that all prehistoric people with a particular blood type ate the same diet.”

Many people who have tried D’Adamo’s diet have lost weight. There is a reason, but it isn’t the one he gives. In actuality, the diets recommended for all four blood types are each extremely low in calories. Some day’s plans have only 1,000 calories, half the caloric needs of an adult woman."

Meat is not that expensive. From the essay, it sounds like your family had enough meat to feed an army. Make sure you only give the neighbor one chicken wing and a rib. I mean, other people don't get hungry. Only Navigator driving overweight, overindulging, selfish people get hungry. Celebrate your past by eating yourself to death literally.

I thought this story was sick. A typical example of a selfish and overindulgent culture. Not to mention the thought of all that meat was quite disgusting. But I digress. The selfishness was even more appalling.

I can't help thinking of stories of starving concentration camp prisoners who shared pieces of bread with others to keep them alive another day, or families who lived on half-rations through the war so they could feed people they were hiding from the Nazis. Perhaps that neighbor stopped by because he was hungry, or lonely. Maybe he just wanted to share a few minutes with a happy family.

My second comment is this: I am amazed that so many Salon readers fail to appreciate Garrison Keillor. Does he render his points too gently to be understood these days? I search the site daily for his intimate tales, because in them I always find truths, sometimes large, often small, hidden artfully in the turn of a phrase, making me smile as they hit home. For me, his essays are always more than the sum of their parts.

back in Tennessee. But how many places have you shopped this story to? I enjoyed it the first time I heard it, on NPR.

I liked this article the first time I heard it-- last week on NPR. I'd like to think that Salon is publishing new articles-- or at least excerpts that aren't running elsewhere at the same time...

Good short story. Reminds me of stories from my older relatives.

Amazing! A story in Salon about how life is good in the USA and better than it used to be. Without whining! Wow!

UPLAND

A Cross there beneath Mt. Baldy where William Henry was found.

Bill stood against those SUNNIS ONLY, KURDS ONLY, SHIITES ONLY; Jacksonville, Tampa, Oklahoma City, Tulsa and those Cities of AMERICA those forgotten landmarks now being established in IRAQ.

In the North, that same poverty was etched upon the bayonet Dad used to dispatch the Pig from what was to become our one room home.

Richard Nixon had it correct concerning the Amercian Public: "How quickly they forget".

HOW SOON WILL THEY REMEMBER, or will they?

Have you ever gone hungry...out of necessity rather than choice?

Kinda thought not.

People respond to deprivation in a multitude of ways, one of which is to celebrate prosperity, when they have it, by indulging in what they couldn't have previously. Along with that can also go an aversion to providing others with a free ride.

Look to yourself before criticizing others.

Yes, I heard this first on NPR, and only caught part of it, so I was delighted to see it here in print.

I grew up in extreme poverty. I know what its like to go hungry, to have the pantry run bare at the end of the month, standing in line at the church pantry, eating beans for dinner.

I understand how putting on a giant feast for family becomes a ritual of remembering the hard times in order to temper the good. Our barbeques were celebrations - a wedding, a baby, the bounty of fall butchering.

We had neighbors who took advantage and were begrudged their plates of food, but never turned away. I also remember neighbors who appeared at the gate with whatever dish they could put together, added their bit to the groaning picnic tables, and were welcomed.

I also remember the people who were roasting mutton after several of our sheep went uncounted. My father went there with a shotgun in his truck, and returned looking angry and sad. He couldn't rightly be angry with people who were hungry.

Short stories like Susan Straight's need to be told. She speaks to those of us who came up into the middle class from the hollers, the reservations, the tiny mountain mining towns and the urban projects. I take this message from her story: Don't take anything for granted, remember where you come from, and bring something to the table.