Barbara Kingsolver is an undeniable master of storytelling. For the first time, she indulges us with a nonfiction story and she doesn’t disappoint. “Animal, Vegetable, Miracle” includes a year’s worth of trials and tribulations of her family as they produce, process, and enjoy their own food on a small farm in West Virginia. The result is a well-crafted tale about relationships, adoration, and worship of food, very much in the style of MFK Fisher, whose iconic writings, continue to uphold the highest standard of “food” writing.
Kingsolver’s major focus in the book is to make a passionate case for the sustainable relationship that is formed between an individual and community when food consumption is centered around two things: producing food yourself and buying from local producers. Kingsolver tells a story about life centered around the seasons; the hard months of spring when cupboards are bare and gardens have yet to produce, the beauty of a fully producing garden in the summer, the intense months of harvest in the fall, and the joy of overstocked larders in the winter. She captures the rhythm of life lived close to the earth while spinning stories about zucchini wars, 50th birthday parties, melting pumpkin carcasses, and turkey copulation.
As a nonfiction book, “Animal, Vegetable, Miracle” provides exhaustively researched references about sustainable agriculture. Gleaning much from scientific research, government policy, and current trends in community activism, Kingsolver’s husband Steven L. Hopp shares essays that reinforce the farm experience in relation to the world community. The couple shares facts such as, “(b)uying your goods from local businesses rather than national chains generates about three times as much money for your local economy.” In addition to Barbara’s tale, her oldest daughter, Camille Kingsolver, includes her own memories of kitchen life and recipes that her mother may have mentioned in the chapters. It adds another beautiful dimension to the intensity of relationships that are woven within the book.
The biggest obstacle for this high-desert garden reader to overcome is the lusciousness of the Appalachian climate. Kingsolver’s book begins with her family moving from arid Phoenix to a farm tucked in the hills of West Virginia, where irrigation is never again mentioned. And yes, I’m jealous. Living in an environment where it’s impossible to pick up the daily paper and not read about water rights, the luxury of a non-irrigated garden is beyond my wildest dreams. And yet we persevere, with a heavy sigh.
Kingsolver presents a convincing testimonial to the love of food, family, and community in this inspiring read.
Susan Fries is executive director of the Pueblo Performing Arts Guild, as well as avid traveler, bookworm, gardener, and cook.
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