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Read through the most famous quotes by topic #farm
As with any violent ideology, the populace must be shielded from direct exposure to the victims of the system, lest they begin questioning the system or their participation in it. This truth speaks for itself: why else would the meat industry go to such lengths to keep its practices invisible? ↗
I flera hundra år hade hans förfäder sått säd. Det var en handling av andakt en tyst och mild, vindlös kväll, helst i ett litet beskedligt duggregn, helst så snart som möjligt efter det grågässen sträckt. Potatisen, det var en ny rotfrukt, det var inget mystiskt med den, inget religiöst, kvinnfolk och barn kunde vara med och sätta dessa jordpäron som kom från främmande land liksom kaffet, det var stor och präktig mat, men släkt med rovan. Säden, det var brödet. Säd eller icke säd, det var liv eller död. Isak gick barhuvad och sådde i Jesu namn. Han var som en vedkubb med händer på, men inom sig var han som ett barn. Han tänkte sig för vid varje kast, han var vänlig och undergiven. Se, nu gror nog dessa korn och blir ax och mera säd, och likadant är det över hela jorden när säd sås. I Palestina, i Amerika, i Gudbrandsdalen - å, vad världen var vid, och den lilla, lilla jordlapp som Isak gick och sådde låg i mitten av allt. Solfjädrar av säd strålade ut från hans hand. Himlen var mulen och blid, det såg ut att dra ihop sig till ett litet, litet duggregn. ↗
#labour #life #rain #scandinavia #life
When I went to first grade and the other children said that their fathers were farmers, I simply didn't believe them. I agreed in order to be polite, but in my heart I knew that those men were impostors, as farmers and as fathers, too. In my youthful estimation, Laurence Cook defined both categories. To really believe that others even existed in either category was to break the First Commandment. ↗
I am a battery hen. I live in a cage so small I cannot stretch my wings. I am forced to stand night and day on a sloping wire mesh floor that painfully cuts into my feet. The cage walls tear my feathers, forming blood blisters that never heal. The air is so full of ammonia that my lungs hurt and my eyes burn and I think I am going blind. As soon as I was born, a man grabbed me and sheared off part of my beak with a hot iron, and my little brothers were thrown into trash bags as useless alive. My mind is alert and my body is sensitive and I should have been richly feathered. In nature or even a farmyard I would have had sociable, cleansing dust baths with my flock mates, a need so strong that I perform 'vacuum' dust bathing on the wire floor of my cage. Free, I would have ranged my ancestral jungles and fields with my mates, devouring plants, earthworms, and insects from sunrise to dusk. I would have exercised my body and expressed my nature, and I would have given, and received, pleasure as a whole being. I am only a year old, but I am already a 'spent hen.' Humans, I wish I were dead, and soon I will be dead. Look for pieces of my wounded flesh wherever chicken pies and soups are sold. ↗
This whole effort to rebuild and stabilize a countryside is not without its disappointments and mistakes... What matter though these temporary growing pains when one can cast his eye upon the hills and see hard-boiled farmers who have spent their lives destroying land now carrying water by hand to their new plantations ↗
Though the industrial logic that made feeding cattle to cattle seem like a good idea has been thrown into doubt by mad cow disease, I was surprised to learn it hadn't been discarded. The FDA ban on feeding ruminant protein to ruminants makes an exception for blood products and fat; my steer will probably dine on beef tallow recycled from the very slaughterhouse he's heading to in June. ↗
Milkers don’t spend half as long with their mothers." Eli spread his chore coat over Little Joe. "Not more than a few weeks. Sometimes one day. Maybe not even ... If you were a peeper, it’d be even worse. They don’t even get to see their mamas. They’re still jelly beans when they’re left alone to hatch. ↗
#author-sandra-neil-wallace #farm-animals #growing-up #little-joe #nature
Woods are grim places. Farmers shoot squirrels, crows, magpies, and hang them up on trees to warn Mother Nature to get it together or else. Much notice she takes, being in league with God. They're a right pair, more carnage than the rest of us put together. ↗
#farmers #god #lovejoy #mother-nature #nature
