Narrative: Half-eaten fruitPeople get bored with their food.
At which bite do we decide to stop munching? Maybe when we can't see the trees where our apples grew. As we pick them from paper bags they become less like growth and more like waste, unlike the biblical entities they are.
The same applies to the carrots in our infamous brown bags : the level of excitement they generate lies in between a refilled paper towel dispenser and an emptied bathroom compost bin. We feel like one bite, maybe two is enough of a moral action to dismiss of our garden friends like the good servants they were to our uneventful meal. In some cases they remain intact as anonymous members of our boundless landfills. I fish these out gladly : being off board, a free apple makes for a happy Henri.
Yet as I place them in my paper bag - an investment that bares fruit on a weekly basis - I feel like the tree that birthed them was so close to squandering its sap, the hands that picked almost fed no one and the bacteria in our stomachs almost went hungry. The evil scheming bacteria are the lucky ones, showered by the luxury of potato chips and cookies while the innocent, fruit-and-veggie-craving-lambs of our gut go hungry.
As we dig through the trash we regularly find that the garden foods our system fell in love with long ago have become little more than an awkward third wheel to our lunch bags.
It's not just the fruit that gets ignored...
I now wear these pants with pride:
|Resources recovered: three pairs of pants, and an umbrella|